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SNOW-BOUND 

AMONG THE HILLS 

SONGS OF LABOR 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

J. G. WHITTIER 



NEW EDITION 



i HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
BOSTON, NEW YORK, AND CHICAGO C 



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Price, paper, 15 cents j linen. 25 cents. 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERI 



1. Longfellow's Evangeline. 

2. Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. 

3. Dramatization of Miles Standish. 

4. Whittier's Snow-Bound, etc. 

5. Whittier's Mabel Martin. 

6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story. 

7. 8, 9. Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. 

10. Hawthorne's Biographical Series. 

11. Longfellow's Children's Hour, etc. 

12. Outlines — Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes, 

Lowell. 
13, 14. Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha. 

15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, etc. 

16. Bayard Taylor's Lars. 

17. 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. 
19, 20. Franklin's Autobiography. 

21. Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, etc. 

22, 23. Hawthorne's Tangle wood Tales. 

24. Washington's Farewell Addresses, etc. 

25, 26. Longfellow's Golden Legend. 

27. Thoreau's Forest Trees, etc. 

28. Burroughs's Birds and Bees. 

29. Hawthorne's Little Daffydowndilly, etc. 

30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, etc. 

31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain, etc. 

32. Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech, etc. 
33-35. Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Lin. 

36. Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, etc. 

37. Warner's A-Hunting of the Deer, etc. 

38. Longfellow's Building of the Ship, etc. 

39. Lowell's Books and Libraries, etc. 

40. Hawthorne's Tales of the White Hills. 

41. Whittier's Tent on the Beach, etc. 

42. Emerson's Fortune of the Republic, etc. 

43. Bryant's Ulysses among the Phseacians. 

44. Edgeworth's Waste not, Want not, etc. 

45. Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. 

46. Old Testament Stories. 

47. 48. Scudder's Fables and Folk Stories. 
49, 50. Andersen's Stories. 

51. Irving's Rip Van Winkle, etc. 

52. Irvuig's The Voyage, etc. 

53. Scott's Lady of the Lake. 

54. Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc. 

55. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 

56. Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. 

57. Dickens's Christmas Carol. 

58. Dickens's Cricket on the Hearth. 

59. Verse and Prose for Beginners in Reading. 

60. 61. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

62. Fiske's War of Independence. 

63. Longfellow's Paul Revere's Ride, etc. 
64-66. Lambs' Tales from Shakespeare. 

67. Shakespeare's Julius Cfesar. 

68. Goldsmith's Deserted Village, etc. 
60. Hawthorne's The Old Manse, etc. 

70, 71. Selection from Whittier's Child Life. 

72. Milton's Minor Poems. 

73. Tennyson's Enoch Arden, etc. 

74. Gray's Elegy ; Cowper's John Gilpin. 

75. Scudder's George Washington. 

76. Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality. 
Burns'n Cotter's Saturday Night, etc. 



77 



78. Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield 

79. Lamb's Old China, etc. 

80. Coleridge's Ancient Mariner; C 

Lochiel's Warning, etc, 

81. Holmes's Autocrat of the Breakf 

82. Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. 

83. Eliot's Silas Marner. 

84. Dana's Two Years Before the IV 

85. Hughes's Tom Brown's School 

86. Scott's Ivanhoe. 

87. Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. 

88. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin. 

89. 90. Swift's Gulliver's Voyages. 

91. Hawthorne's House of the Seve 

92. Burroughs's A Bunch of Herbs 

93. Shakespeare's As You Like It. 

94. Milton's Paradise Lost. Books 
95-98. Cooper's Last of the Moliica 
99. Tennyson's Coming of Arthur, 

100. Burke's Conciliation with the C 

101. Pope's Iliad. Books I, VI, XX 

102. Macaulay's Johnson and Goldsn 

103. Macaulay's Milton. 

104. Macaulay's Addison. 

105. Carlyle's Essay on Bums. 

106. Shakespeare's Macbeth. 

107. 108. Grimms' Tales. 

109. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 

110. De Quincey's Flight of a Tartar 

111. Tennyson's Princess. 

112. Cranch's ^neid. Books I-III. 

113. Poems from Emerson. 

114. Peabody's Old Greek Folk Stori 

115. Browning's Pied Piper of Hamt^ 

116. Shakespeare's Hamlet, 

117. 118. Stories from the Arabian N* 
119, 120. Poe's Poems and Tales 

121. Speech by Hayne on Foote's Re 

122. Speech by Webster in Reply to : 

123. Lowell's Democracy, etc. 

124. Aldrich's The Cruise of the Dol 

125. Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. 

126. Ruskin's King of the Golden Rh 

127. Keats's Ode on a Greciaai Urn, e 

128. Byron's Prisoner of Chillon, ete 

129. Plato's Judgment ot Socrates. 

130. Emerson's The Superlative, etc. 

131. Emerson's Nature, etc. 

132. Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum, ef 

133. Schurz's Abraham Lincoln 

134. Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. 

135. Chaucer's Prologue. 

136. Chaucer's The Knight's Tale, etd: 

137. Bryant's Iliad. Bks. I, VI, XXII, 

138. Hawthorne's The Custom House, 

139. Howells's Doorstep Acquaintance, 

140. Thackeray's Henry Esmond. ' 

141. Higginson's Three Outdoor Papen 

142. Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies. 

143. Plutarch's Alexander the Great. 

144. Scudder's The Book of Legend 

145. Hawthorne's The Gentle Boy, etc> 

146. Longfellow's Giles Corey. 



at..lj 
is. II 



(See also hack covers.^ 



tEPtie Utturgise iltcerature ^ttite 



SNOW-BOUND 

AMONG THE HILLS 

SONGS OF LABOR 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BT 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 



NEW EDITION 

WITH SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

AN INTRODUCTION, AND NOTES 

AND QUESTIONS 




BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 



Houghton Mifflin Company are the only authorized publisher n 
of the tvorks of Longfellow, Whittiee, Lowell, Holmes, Emeb- 
SON, Thorbau, and Hawthorne. All editions which lack the 
imprint or authorization of Houghton 3fifflin Company are issued 
without the consent and contrary to the wishes of the authors or 
their heirs. 






COPYRIGHT, 1878, BY JOHN G. WHITTIER 

COPYRIGHT, 1883, 1894, AND 189S, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN St CO. 

COPYRIGHT, I916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



AUG -7 J9)6 
©CU437127 



Wit 3atber<{be l$KtM 

CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



I CONTENTS 

Suggestions to the Teacher v 

\.N Introduction to John Greenleaf Whittier . xiii 

?ROEM 1 

5NOW-Bound: a Winter Idyl 3 

iMONG THE Hills . 23 

5oNGS OF Labor — 38 

Dedication 38 

The Shoemakers . -40 

The Fishermen 42 

The Lumbermen 44 

The Ship-Builders 49 

The Drovers ^1 

TheHuskers 54 

The Corn-Song 57 

The Barefoot Boy 58 

My Playmate ^1 

Telling the Bees 63 

The Poet and the Children 65 

Burns 66 

A.BRAHAM Davenport 70 

The Poor Voter on Election Day .... 72 

The Gift of Tritemius 73 

King Solomon and the Ants 74 

How THE Robin came . 76 

April "^^ 

The Mayflowers 79 

For an Autumn Festival 80 

The Frost Spirit ^2 

The Last Walk in Autumn . . . . • -83 

The Eternal Goodness 91 

Notes and Questions ^^ 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

John Greenleaf Whittier . . . . . Frontispiea 

Whittier's Birthplace in Winter ^! 

The Kitchen in Whittier' s Home ^' 

Map of the Region celebrated in Whittier's 
Poems 105 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHERS 

Right and wrong methods. There are two ways to get the 
piost out of a classic; in one, the teacher brings out the mean- 
ing for the class by continual explanation; in the other, he 
puts his wits to work to induce the students themselves to 
find what is in it. 

A working basis. This partial outline of what pupils should 
learn to do in studying Snow-Bound will be found helpful 
to teachers in planning and guiding the study of a poem: — 

1. To know the writer and the times; i.e., to develop 
breadth of view. 

2. To like the classic; i.e., to develop appreciation. 

3. To master details; i.e., to develop full understanding, 
scholarship. 

4. To develop initiative; i.e., by individual work described 
below. 

5. To get a wealth of ideas; i.e., by poring over the poem, and 
by memorizing. 

6. To arouse other ideas; i.e., by connotation. 

7. To train judgment; i.e., by comparison of characters, other 
poems; analysis. 

8. To visualize, to develop imagination; i.e., by the study of 
pictures. 

9. To deepen the emotional nature; i.e., by arousing feeling. 
The laboratory method in English. The old-fashioned plan 

in teaching literature was to cram into the mind of the child 
a bulk of information about the author and the poem. The 
old-time method taught all about a classic, but not once de- 
manded that teacher and pupil together go straight to the 
classic and ask the poet what he meant. The better method 
in English work is the laboratory method; it implies (1) ac- 

1 Based upon a portion of Chapter IV of Bolenius's Teaching 
Literature in the Grammar Grades and High School. (Riverside Text- 
books in Education. Houghton Mifflin Company, publishers.) 



vi SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER 

tual contact with the subject studied, and (2) conclusions 
based on personal investigation. 

Pupils ought to do considerable individual work of this 
sort. Hold them responsible for certain definite preparation, 
like looking up unusual words in the dictionary, keeping an 
outline of the story, and noting the characters. 

Let them make reports on (1) the poet's introduction of 
local color; (2) on the opinions expressed by the poet; (3) on 
the connotation of the poet's words and phrases. (Training [ 
in connotation will do much to develop appreciation.) 

Whittier's life and surroundings. A Whittier atmosphere 
should be created. This can be done, first of all, by the use 
of pictures. Then, in taking up the Ufe of the poet, have the 
students outline the facts from a history of American litera- 
ture, and give the main points in " one-minute talks." Or, 
draw out by questions the most dramatic or the most vitally 
important moments of his life. There is much in the biog- 
raphy of Whittier to encourage the country boy. 

The sketch of Whittier on pages xiii-xviii of this book is 
intended to be read by the pupils themselves. It is written 
especially for this use. 

Subjects of Whittier's poems. The question, "What- 
would such a man be most likely to write about? " will bring 
a quick response. 

Before beginning the poem, invite the pupils to prove their , 
statements. Some of the replies will probably be much as ; 
follows: — 

Whittier^s subjects Illustrative poems 

Country life. The Barefoot Boy; The Corn Song. 

Nature. April, The Mayflowers. 

Childhood. My Playmate. 

Working people. Songs of Labor. 

New England traditions. Abraham Davenport. 

Religion. The Eternal Goodness. , 

Death. Telling the Bees. 

Reading Snow-Bound. Snow-Bound should be studied by 
paragraphs. A paragraph should be read through and a title 
given to it before the detailed study is begun. The giving of 
titles to the paragraphs is an important feature of the work, 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER vii 

or it teaches pupils to look at the paragraph in the large, as 
I whole. The titles to the first three paragraphs, for exam- 
ple, may be: — 

I. Omens of the storm (lines 1-18); H. The evening 
ihores (Unes 19-30) and the coming of the snow (lines 31- 
10); III. The transformation in the morning (lines 41-65). 
kiteT the title has been assigned, the detailed study of the 
meaning of the lines is to be taken up, and after this the oral 
reading. Oral reading should never precede but always follow 
the interpretation. 

During the reading, a few details about the characters in 
the Snow-Bound farmhouse add to the zest of the poem. The 
father died when Whittier was twenty-three ; the mother lived 
long. Uncle Moses Whittier, the father's younger brother 
(unmarried), and the unmarried aunt lived with them. The 
brother is Matthew. The elder sister is Mary, who sent off 
Whittier's first poem; the younger sister later kept house. 
The district schoolmaster boarded with them. Harriet Liver- 
more, daughter of Judge Livermore, of New Hampshire, 
boarded at Rocks Village, two miles away. In the poem she 
is the " half-welcome guest." 

The lesson should consist of study of the poem, not study 
about it. From the outline or synopsis, that the pupils make 
for themselves, it is easy for them to pick out the purely 
narrative portions; the purely descriptive; and the lyrical, 
which voice personal opinion and feeling. The narrative- 
lyric nature of the poem is readily seen. The meaning of the 
word idyl is better understood. Over four hundred words 
should be discussed and thoroughly ground into the vocabu- 
lary of the pupil. Allusions must be explained. Draw the 
meanings from the class, if possible, instead of telling them 
yourself. Poetry is meant, primarily, to be read aloud; 
therefore, read it yourself — and have pupils read it —with 
full expression. Call for explanation, as you proceed. Let 
pupils memorize the parts that appeal to them. Let them 
discover the quaUties of style for themselves. Lead them to 
visualize the portraits and the scenes, and to understand the 
other passages. Since they have taught themselves largely 



viii SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER I 

by investigation and thought in class, they will lay aside 
the book with understanding and respect. Such a combinar 
tion makes for the best appreciation. 



SUBJECTS FOR WRITTEN EXERCISES 

1. Winter Evening Occupations and Amusements in 
Whittier's Childhood. 

2. Whittier's Parents and their Fireside Stories. 

3. Whittier's Sisters. 

4. Character Sketch of Whittier's Uncle. 

5. A Comparison between the Nature of Whittier's Aunt 
and of his Uncle. 

6. The Country Schoolmaster. 

These sketches should be of from one hundred to three 
hundred words. The outlines for them should be made or 
reviewed in the class before the sketches are written, in order 
that the teacher may see that they are complete. A sketch of ' 
Whittier's mother, for example, should answer all of the fol- 
lowing questions: — 

What sort of woman was Whittier's mother? 

How was she occupied while telling her fireside stories? 

How does Whittier express his appreciation of her stories? 

Where did she find the inspu-ation for the tales she 
told? 

What different kinds of tales could she produce for her 
children's entertainment? 

How did she show her spirit of helpfulness to every 
one? 



MATERIAL FOR VITALIZING CLASS WORK 

Biographical material. The following books furnish excel- 
lent biographical material: Carpenter: John Greenleaf Whit- 
tier (American Men of Letters Series); Claflin: Personal 
Recollections of John Greenleaf Whittier; Fields: Whittier: 
Notes on his Life and his Friendships; Pickard: Life and 
Letters of John Greenleaf Whittier (2 vols.). 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER ix 

Illustrative material. To illustrate Whittier's life, pictures 
like the following are good: Perry Pictures: numbers 25, 26, 
27, 27b, 28, 29. 

Critical material. For a criticism of the poet's work, the 
following books will prove stimulating: Lowell: A Fable for 
Critics (lines 242-303, elementary); Pattee: A History of 
American Literature (pp. 333-44); Richardson: American 
Literature (pp. 173-86); Stedman: Poets of America (pp. 95- 
133); Trent: A History of American Literature (pp. 408-19); 
Wendell: A Literary History of America (pp. 358-70); Hig- 
ginson and Boynton: Reader's History of American Litera- 
ture (pp. 146-53). 



ADDITIONAL READING 

The following poems are not included in this collection. 
References are given to other R.L.S. issues which contain 
any of these. 

I. Narrative and Legendary Poems. The Vaudois Teacher 

— Barclay of Ury (R.L.S. 5) — The Angels of Buena Vista 
(R.L.S. 5, 239) — Maud MuUer (R.L.S. 5, 175, 239, G) — 
Skipper Ireson's Ride (R.L.S. 5, 175, G)— The Pipes at 
Lucknow (R.L.S. 5, 239) — Marguerite (R.L.S. 239) — 
The Swan Song of Parson Avery (R.L.S. 41) — Amy Went- 
worth — The Wreck of Rivermouth (R.L.S. 41). 

II. Poems of Nature. Sunset on the Bearcamp — Summer 
by the Lakeside — The River Path (R.L.S. G)— The 
Trailing Arbutus. 

HI. Subjective and Reminiscent Poems. In School Days 
(R.L.S. 5, 175, 239) — Memories — The New Year (R.L.S. 
T). 

IV. Religious Poems. Our Master — My Psalm (R.L.S. 
175) —At Last (R.L.S. 175). 

V. Personal Poems. Bryant on his Birthday (R.L.S. G) 

— Our Autocrat [Holmes] — 0. W. Holmes on his Eightieth 
Birthday — James Russell Lowell — To William Lloyd 
Garrison. 

VI. Anti-slavery Poems. Randolph of Roanoke (R.L.S. 



X SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER 

175) — Massachusetts to Virginia (R.L.S. 175) Ichabod 
{R.L.S. 175) —The Lost Occasion {R.L.S. 175). 

VII. Poems of The Civil War. Waiting — The Watchers 
— Barbara Frietchie {R.L.S. 5, 175, G) — Laus Deo 
{R.L.S. 5, 175). 

EDITIONS FOR SCHOOL USE 

Complete Poetical Works. Student's Cambridge Edition. 
With a biographical sketch, notes, and indexes to titles and 
first lines. $1.50. 

In the Riverside Literature Series 

A Sketch of Whittier's Life. No. 175. By Bliss Perry, Pro- 
fessor of English Literature in Harvard University. With 
twenty autobiographical and other poems by Whittier. 
With two portraits. Paper .15. Cloth .25. 

Whittier Leaflets. No. G. Forty complete poems and se- 
lected prose passages from the works of John Greenleaf 
Whittier. With an introduction, a biographical sketch, 
and illustrations. Paper .30. Cloth .40. 

Mabel Martin, and Other Poems. No. 5. A collection of 
eighteen poems. With a biographical sketch, and intro- 
ductory and explanatory notes. Paper .15. 

Snow-Bound, Among the Hills, Songs of Labor and Other 
Poems. No. 4. A collection of twenty-seven poems. With 
suggestions to teachers, an introduction, notes and ques- 
tions, illustrations and a map. Paper .15. Cloth .25. 

The Tent on the Beach, and Associated Poems. No. 41. 
A collection of nineteen poems. With introductory and 
explanatory notes, and map. Paper .15. 

CHRONOLOGY OF WHITTIER'S LIFE AND 
WORKS 

1807. Whittier born, December 17. 

1829-32. Newspaper editor in Boston, Haverhill, and Hartford. 

1831. Legends of New England. (Prose and Verse.) 

1832. Moll Pitcher. 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER xi 

1833. Delegate to the anti-slavery convention in Philadelphia. 

Justice and Expediency. (Prose.) 
1835-36. Member of the Massachusetts Legislature. 

1836. Settled in Amesbury. 

1837. Poems written during the Progress of the Abolition Ques- 
tion in the United States, between the years 1830 and 
1836. 

1838. Poems. 

1838-40. Edited The Pennsylvania Freeman. 

1843. Lays of My Home, and Other Poems. 

1844. Miscellaneous Poems. 

1845. The Stranger in Lowell. (Prose.) 

1846. Voices of Freedom. 

1847. The Supernaturalism of New England. (Prose.) 
1847-59. Leading writer for the National Era, of Washington, 

D.C. 

1849. Poems. (A collection of Whittier's poems against Slavery.) 
Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal. (Prose.) 

1850. Songs of Labor, and Other Poems. 

Old Portraits and Modern Sketches. (Prose.) 

1853. The Chapel of the Hermits, and Other Poems. 
A Sabbath Scene: A Sketch of Slavery in Verse. 

1854. Literary Recreations and Miscellanies. (Prose.) 

1856. The Panorama, and Other Poems. 

1857. The Sycamores. 

Atlantic Monthly established. Whittier a frequent con- 
tributor. 
1860. Presidential Elector for Massachusetts. 
Home Ballads, Poems, and Lyrics. 

1863. In War Time, and Other Poems. 

1864, Presidential Elector for Massachusetts. 

1866. Snow-Bound. 

Prose Works. (Collected.) 

1867. National Lyrics. 

The Tent on the Beach, and Other Poems. 

1869. Among the Hills, and Other Poems. 

1870. Ballads of New England. 

Two Letters on the Present Aspect of the Society of 
Friends. 

1871. Miriam, and Other Poems. 

1872. The Pennsylvania Pilgrim, and Other Poems. 
1874. Mabel Martin, and Other Poems. 



xii SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER 

1875. Hazel Blossoms. 
1878. Vision of Echard, and Other Poems. 
1881. The King's Missive, and Other Poems. 
1883. The Bay of Seven Islands, and Other Poems. 
1886. Poems of Natm*e. 

Saint Gregory's Guest, and Recent Poems. 
1892. At Smidown. 

Whittier died, September 7. 



AN INTRODUCTION TO 
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

It stands there still, the old homestead, just as it stood 
" that brief December day." There is the long, low house 
with slanting roof and huge stone chimney up the ^^^ ^^^^_ 
middle. There is the round well-curb beneath its stead and 
looming sweep. The bridle-post, a big stone with 
projecting step, still keeps its seat at the garden gate. And 
over the way still stands the barn — the big new barn that 
held the treasures of the Whittier farm. It is a lonely spot, 
as lonely still as can be found, perhaps, in any busy county 
of New England. It lies in what is called the East Parish of 
Haverhill, in the valley of the Merrimac. 

Planted here, with not a neighbor roof in sight, where 

no social smoke 
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak, 

five generations of Whittiers had taken up, each in its turn, 
the work of the farm; and each in its turn, on long winter 
evenings, had sat around the homestead hearth. In John 
Greenleaf Whittier's boyhood, there were, besides hig father 
and mother, his aunt Mercy and uncle Moses, and his own 
young brother Matthew and two sisters — Mary, older than 
himself, and Elizabeth, the youngest of them all. 

The Whittiers were strict Quakers, as had been every 
Whittier beneath that roof. They used the gentle "thee" 
and "thy" of Quaker speech, eschewed all vanities, and 
dressed in homespun of sober Quaker gray. Every "First 
day " they drove to the meeting of the Society of Friends at 
Amesbury, and that was about as much of the wide wide 
world as John Greenleaf knew up to his fifteenth year. Then 
something happened that ever after he looked back upon as 
one of the greatest events of his life. 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

That was the coming of a poet into the house — not a 
poet, flesh and blood, in coat and breeches, but the mind and 
the soul of a poet alive forever in his book. And 
Burn^s°^* that poet was a Scotch farmer named Robert 
Burns. He was very properly introduced, too, 
being brought in by the schoolmaster himself. Joshua Coffin, 
teacher of the district school, fresh from Dartmouth College 
and full of Ufe and fun, used often to come around of an 
evening, bringing a book to read aloud — a book of travel 
and adventure, usually; but this particular night, the poems. 
And he sat down and read page after page, explaining the 
Scottish dialect as he went. Greenleaf Whittier sat spell- 
bound, listening. He was finding out, that night, another 
world, or another way of looking at this one, which is quite 
the same thing, after all. He was still rapt in his vision when 
the reading stopped and the master, rising, offered to leave 
the book, if he liked it. Did he like it? He took it out into the 
hayfield in the morning, he carried it with him all that day 
and the next, he read it to himself, he read it aloud, he read 
it to the dog and the brook and the birds; and if the mows in 
the new barn waited longer that summer for the yield of the 
early mowing, the fault must be laid to Robert Burns. 

But the work of the farm had to go on, and his hand was 

needed with the rest; for only by " all hands to" could the 

stubborn soil be made to yield a livehhood. But he thought 

of Burns, the Scottish farmer, and the songs he made behind 

the plough. 

And daily life and duty seemed 
No longer poor and common. 



I saw through all familiar things 

The romance underlying; 
The joys and griefs that plume the wings 

Of Fancy skyward flying. 

In short, John Greenleaf Whittier, with an inborn love of 
rhyming, was beginning to find that he himself was some- 
thing of a poet, too. 

One day, five years later, Whittier was standing by the 
roadside, helping his father mend a stone wall, when the 



INTRODUCTION xv 

postman, riding by on horseback, tossed over to them the 
weekly paper. What was Whittier's surprise when he opened 
it, to find in its " Poet's Corner " some verses „^.,,. , 
of his own, signed W." — his sister Mary had first poem 
filched the poem and sent it off. The paper was a ^^ ^^"^ ^ 
small sheet edited at Newburyport by William Lloyd Garri- 
son, who was only two years older than Whittier. And the 
sequel of the story was that the young editor drove out him- 
self to hunt up the young poet (and found the young poet flat 
on his stomach hunting up a hen's nest under the barn), and 
that Friend Whittier was urged to release his son from the 
farmwork and send him to an academy. " Sir," he sternly re- 
phed, "poetry will not give him bread!" But as Whittier 
was not very strong, he had permission to go, if he could pay 
his own way. And this he did, by making slippers, and book- 
keeping, and teaching in vacation time. 

There is a good old Eastern proverb that says, "Square 
thyself for use. The stone that will fit in the wall is not left in 
the way." By the end of Whittier's school days it was time 
for him to choose what he would do. He had written many 
verses, and many of them had been pubHshed; but verses were 
not paid for. He might make a good cobbler, for whom 
surely there is always much use in the world. But he had 
"squared" himself for yet a better use, and fate picked him 
up to mend the understanding of his fellows in yet a better 
way. 

If we were to follow Whittier through the next twelve 
years, we should find ourselves in first one New England 
town and then another, or going by stagecoach -^^^ttjgj |,e. 
and boat to New York or Philadelphia; for Whit- comes an 
tier was in demand as a newspaper editor. He 
was, in fact, becoming a public man. At one time he was 
nominated for Congress, but his health was so poor that he 
had to withdraw his name before the election. There were 
three things that, true to his Quaker principles, he used all 
the weight of his influence against. These were intemper- 
ance, war, and slavery. He wrote a great deal in both prose 
and verse on these three subjects, but particularly the last. 



xvi INTRODUCTION . 

On this only a very small party of his countrymen at that' 
time agreed with him; and more than once his office was at- 
tacked, his papers were bm-ned, mobs followed him when he 
went to pubhc anti-slavery meetings, and he narrowly es- 
caped stones and fists, despite his Quaker garb. But he was 
not to be daunted in anything that he believed to be right; 
and it was one very beautiful trait of his character, — and 
one all too rare in this world, — that he could firmly disagree 
with another man's opinion without in the least quarrefing 
with the man. That is probably one reason why he had al- 
ways warm friends in all parts of the country, whether they 
were of his way of thinking or not. 

Every day was adding to his reputation as "the Quaker 
poet"; but it was not until after ill-health had forced him to 
settle down quietly at home, that he wrote the greater num- 
ber of those poems that we still delight to read. Meanwhile, 
the family had sold the Old farm and bought a little cottage 
in Amesbury, and this was the poet's home for the remaining 
fifty-six years of his life. 

If we look at the "Table of Contents" of Whittier's 
Poems, — and that is a pretty good way, too, to get some 
idea of the extent of an author's work, — we will 
JJ^^®^'^ find a large group of poems called "legendary." 
Here, then, is a poet who loved old tales, and, 
most of all, if we may judge by the titles, tales of the land 
where he was born. "Telling the Bees," "Abraham Daven- 
port," and "How the Robin Came" are examples of this. 
Recollections of his own boyhood appear not alone in "Snow- 
Bound" but also in "The Barefoot Boy" and in "My Play- 
mate." 

In fact, Whittier put so much of his own heart into his 
poems that if we were to read them all in the order in which 
they were written, we could hardly have a better biography. 
Such poems as the ringing Corn-Song in "The Huskers" 
or the sympathetic stanzas of "The Poor Voter on Election 
Day" tell us that this poet was, in the very best sense, a 
man of the world, — one who respected toil, who hated in- 
justice and who loved his country and helped his fellow men. 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

You may notice in reading Whittier's poems, how often he 
speaks of the golden hue of sunset or of autumn or of the fruit 
of the harvest, and how seldom he mentions other colors. He 
once said, "I have always thought the rainbow beautiful, but 
they tell me I have never seen it. Its only color to me is yel- 
low." In other words, Whittier was color-blind. He wrote of 
scarlet maples," but he only called them so because others 
did, for red and green both to him were yellow. Neverthe- 
less, this defect did not at all lessen the poet's love for nature, 
or his descriptive powers — as you will see when you read 
"Among the Hills," "April," "The Mayflowers," and "The 
Last Walk in Autumn." 

When Whittier wrote "Snow-Bound," only one was left of 
all that circle that used to gather round the homestead 
hearth: and to this one, his brother, he dedicated 

Wliittier's 

the poem. He outlived his brother, too, by many friends 
years; outUved Longfellow and Hawthorne and 
Bayard Taylor and Garrison and Lowell, and almost all the 
other poets and story-teUers and public men who had been 
the fellow-workers and the friends of his life. The year be- 
fore his death, when he was nearly eighty-four, he wrote this 
letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes: — 



Newburtpobt, 8th mo., 18, 1891. 

Ever since I heard the sad news of Lowell's death, I have 
been thinking of thee, and longing to see thee, for we are now 
standing alone. The bright, beautiful ones who began life with 
us have all passed into the great shadow of silence, or rather, 
let us hope, in the language of Henry Vaughan, "They have 
gone into the world of hght, and we alone are Ungering here! " 
Well, I at least shall soon follow them, and I wait the call 
with a calm trust in the Eternal Goodness. I have been ill 
all summer, but the world is still fair to me; my friends are 
very dear to me; I love and am loved. And it is a great joy 
to me that I can think of thee as well, and in the full enjoy- 
ment of all thy gifts and powers, surrounded still with friends 
who love and honor thee. 



xviii INTRODUCTION 1 

The following stanzas from a poem by Holmes beautifully 

express Whittier's character both as a man and as a poet: — 

s 
For thee, dear friend, there needs no high-wrought lay, 1 

To shed its aureole round thy cherished name, — ] 

Thou whose plain, home-born speech of Yea and Nay \ 

Thy truthful nature ever best became. ] 



i 



Death reaches not a spirit such as thine, — 
It can but steal the robe that hid thy wings; 

Though thy warm breathing presence we resign, 
Still in our hearts its loving semblance clings. 

Peaceful thy message, yet for struggling right, — 
When Slavery's gauntlet in our face was flung, — 

While timid weaklings watched the dubious fight 
No herald's challenge more defiant rung. 

Yet was thy spirit tuned to gentle themes 

Sought in the haunts thy humble youth had known. 

Our stem New England's hills and vales and streams, 
Thy tuneful idyls made them all their own. 

The wild flowers springing from thy native sod 

Lent all their charms thy new-world song to fill, — 

Gave thee the mayflower and the golden-rod 
To match the daisy and the daffodil. 

In the brave records of our earlier time 
A hero's deed thy generous soul inspired. 

And many a legend, told in ringing rhyme. 
The youthful soul with high resolve has fired. 

Not thine to lean on priesthood's broken reed; 

No barriers caged thee in a bigot's fold; 
Did zealots ask to syllable thy creed, 

Thou saidst "Our Father," and thy creed was told. 

Best loved and saintliest of our singing train. 
Earth's noblest tributes to thy name belong. 

A lifelong record closed without a stain, 
A blameless memory shrined in deathless song. 



POEMS BY WHITTIER 



PROEM 

I LOVE the old melodious lays 

Which softly melt the ages through, 

The songs of Spenser's golden days, 
Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 

Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning 
dew. 5 

Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 
'To breathe their marvellous notes I try; 

I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 

In silence feel the dewy showers. 
And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the 
sky. 10 

The rigor of a frozen clime, 
The harshness of an untaught ear, 

The jarring words of one whose rhyme 

Beat often Labor's hurried time. 
Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife, 
are here. 15 

Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, 

No rounded art the lack supplies ; 

Unskilled the subtle lines to trace, 
Or softer shades of Nature's face, 

I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. 20 

Nor mine the seer-like power to show 

The secrets of the heart and mind ; 

To drop the plummet-line below 
Our common world of joy and woe, 

A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 



2 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Yet here at least an earnest sense 
Of human right and weal is shown ; 

A hate of tyranny intense, 

And hearty in its vehemence, 
As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 30^ 

O Freedom ! if to me belong 

Nor mighty Milton's gift divine, 

Nor Marvell's wit and graceful song, 

Still with a love as deep and strong 34 

As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 




A) 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 

To THE Memory of the Household it Describes, 
THIS Poem is Dedicated by the Author 

••As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so good Spirits 
which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine light 
of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire : and as the Celestial 
Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the 
same." (Cok. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, book i, chap, v.) 

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky. 
Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm." 

(Emerson, The SnoW'Storm.) 

The sun that brief December day 

Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 

And, darkly circled, gave at noon 

A sadder light than waning moon. 

Slow tracing down the thickening sky 6 

Its mute and ominous prophecy, 

A portent seeming less than threat. 

It sank from sight before it set. 

A chill no coat, however stout, 

Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, 10 

A hard, dull bitterness of cold, 

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race • 

Of life-blood in the sharpened face. 

The coming of the snow-storm told. 

The wind blew east ; we heard the roar 15 

Of Ocean on his wintry shore, 

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 

Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 



4 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — 

Brought in the wood from out of doors, 

Littered the stalls, and from the mows ' 

Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows: 

Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; 

And, sharply clashing horn on horn, 

Impatient down the stanchion rows 

The cattle shake their walnut bows ; 

While, peering from his early perch' 

Upon the scaffold's pole of birch. 

The cock his crested helmet bent 

And down his querulous challenge sent. 

TJnwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm. 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame. 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 

So all night long the storm roared on: 

The morning broke without a sun ; 

In tiny spherule traced with lines 

Of Nature's geometric signs. 

In starry flake and pellicle 

All day the hoary meteor fell ; 

And, when the second morning shone. 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 50 

The blue walls of the firmament. 

No cloud above, no earth below, — 

A universe of sky and snow! 

The old famihar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 55 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood. 

Or garden- wall or belt of wood; 



35 



40 



45 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 5 

A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 60 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof. 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. 65 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 
Our father wasted : " Boys, a path ! " 
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 
Count such a summons less than joy?) 
Our buskins on our feet we drew ; 70 

With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow. 
We cut the solid whiteness through ; 
And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 75 

With dazzling crystal : we had read 
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave. 
And to our own his name we gave, 
With many a wish the luck were ours 
To test his lamp's supernal powers. 80 

We reached the barn with merry din. 
And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
The old horse thrust his long head out. 
And grave with wonder gazed about ; 
The cock his lusty greeting said, 85 

And forth his speckled harem led ; 
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked. 
And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 
The horned patriarch of the sheep. 
Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, 90 

Shook his sage head with gesture mute. 
And emphasized with stamp of foot. 

All day the gusty north-wind bore 
The loosening drift its breath before ; 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Low circling round its southern zone, 95 

The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. 

No church-bell lent its Christian tone 

To the savage air, no social smoke 

Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. 

A solitude made more intense 100 

By dreary- voiced elements, 

The shrieking of the mindless wind, 

The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind. 

And on the glass the unmeaning beat 

Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 105 

Beyond the circle of our hearth 

No welcome sound of toil or mirth 

Unbound the spell, and testified 

Of human life and thought outside. 

We minded that the sharpest ear no 

The buried brooklet could not hear. 

The music of whose liquid lip 

Had been to us companionship. 

And, in our lonely life, had grown 

To have an almost human tone. 115 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 

Of wooded knolls that ridged the west. 

The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 

From sight beneath the smothering bank. 

We piled with care our nightly stack 120 

Of wood against the chimney-back, — 

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, 

And on its top the stout back-stick j 

The knotty forestick laid apart, 

And filled between with curious art 125 

The ragged brush ; then, hovering near. 

We watched the first red blaze appear, 

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam. 

Until the old, rude-furnished room 130 

Burst, flower- like, into rosy bloom ; 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkling drift became, M 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 7 

And through the bare-boughed hlac-tree 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 135 

The crane and pendent trammels showed, 

The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed ; 

While childish fancy, prompt to tell 

The meaning of the miracle. 

Whispered the old rhyme : " Under the tree 140 

When fire outdoors burns merrily^ 

There the witches are making tea.'''* 

The moon above the eastern wood 

Shone at its full; the hill-range stood 

Transfigured in the silver flood, 145 

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen. 

Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 

Took shadow, or the sombre green 

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 

Against the whiteness of their back. 150 

For such a world and such a night 

Most fltting that unwarming light, 

Which only seemed where'er it fell 

To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 155 

We sat the clean- winged hearth about, 

Content to let the north- wind roar 

In bafiled rage at pane and door. 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat ; 160 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed. 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed. 

The house-dog on his paws outspread 165 

Laid to the fire his drowsy head. 

The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 

A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 

And, for the winter fireside meet, 

Between the andirons' straddling feet, 170 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

The mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples sputtered in a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's wood. 

What matter how the night behaved? 175 

What matter how the north-wind raved ? 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 
O Time and Change! — with hair as gray- 
As was my sire's that winter day, I8O 
How strange it seems, with so much gone 
Of life and love, to still live on ! 
Ah, brother ! only I and thou 
Are left of all that circle now, — 
The dear home faces whereupon 185 
That fitful firelight paled and shone. 
Henceforward, listen as we will, 
The voices of that hearth are still ; 
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er. 
Those lighted faces smile no more. 190 
We tread the paths their feet have worn. 

We sit beneath their orchard trees, 

We hear, like them, the hum of bees 
And rustle of the bladed corn; 
We turn the pages that they read, 195 

Their written words we linger o'er, 
But in the sun they cast no shade, 
No voice is heard, no sign is made, 

No step is on the conscious floor ! 
Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust 200 
(Since He who knows our need is just) 
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 
Alas for him who never sees 
The stars shine through his cypress-treea ! 
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 205 

Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play I 
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 

The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 9 

That Life is ever lord of Death, 210 

And Love can never lose its own ! 

We sped the time with stories old, 
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, 
Or stammered from our school-book lore 
" The chief of Gambia's golden shore." 215 

How often since, when all the land 
Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand. 
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred 
The languorous, sin-sick air, I heard 
" Does not the voice of reason cry^ 220 

Claim the first right which Nature gave. 
From the red scourge of bondage fly 

Nor deign to live a burdened slave I " 
Our father rode again his ride 
On Memphremagog's wooded side ; 225 

Sat down again to moose and samp 
In trapper's hut and Indian camp ; 
Lived o'er the old idyllic ease 
Beneath St. Francois' hemlock trees ; 
Again for him the moonlight shone 230 

On Norman cap and bodiced zone ; 
Again he heard the violin play 
Which led the village dance away. 
And mingled in its merry whirl 
The grandam and the laughing girl. 235 

Or, nearer home, our steps he led 
Where Salisbury's level marshes spread 

Mile- wide as flies the laden bee ; 
Where merry mowers, hale and strong. 
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along 240 

The low green prairies of the sea. 
We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, 

And round the rocky Isles of Shoals 

The hake-broil on the driftwood coals; 
The chowder on the sand-beach made, 245 

Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot. 
With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. 



10 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER j 

We heard the tales of witchcraft old, ' 

And dream and sign and marvel told 
To sleepy listeners as they lay 250 ' 

Stretched idly on the salted hay, 
Adrift along the winding shores, 
When favoring breezes deigned to blow 
The square sail of the gundalow. 
And idle lay the useless oars. 255 

Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel. 
Told how the Indian hordes came down 
At midnight on Cochecho town, 
And how her own great-uncle bore 260 

His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 
Recalling, in her fitting phrase. 
So rich and picturesque and free 
(The common unrhymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways), 265 

The story of her early days, — 
She made us welcome to her home ; 
Old hearths grew wide to give us room« 
We stole with her a frightened look 
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 270 

The fame whereof went far and wide 
Through all the simple country-side ; 
We heard the hawks at twilight play, 
The boat-horn on Piscataqua, 
The loon's weird laughter far away ; 275 

We fished her little trout-brook, knew 
What flowers in wood and meadow grew, 
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 280 

The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, 
And heard the wild geese calling loud 
Beneath the gray November cloud. 
Then, haply, with a look more grave, 
And soberer tone, some tale she gave 285 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 11 

From painful Sewel's ancient tome, 
Beloved in every Quaker home, 
Of faith fire- winged by martyrdom, 
Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint, — 
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea- saint ! — 290 

Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, 
Arid water-butt and bread-cask failed. 
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued 
His portly presence, mad for food. 
With dark hints muttered under breath 295 
Of casting lots for life or death. 
Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, 
To be himself the sacrifice. 
Then, suddenly, as if to save 
The good man from his living grave, 300 

A ripple on the water, grew, 
A school of porpoise flashed in view. 
" Take, eat," he said, " and be content ; 
These fishes in my stead are sent 
By Him who gave the tangled ram 305 

To spare the child of Abraham." 

Our uncle, innocent of books. 

Was rich in lore of fields and brooks. 

The ancient teachers never dumb 

Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. 310 

In moons and tides and weather wise, 

He read the clouds as prophecies. 

And foul or fair could well divine. 

By many an occult hint and sign. 

Holding the cunning-warded keys 315 

To all the woodcraft mysteries ; 

Himself to Nature's heart so near 

That all her voices in his ear 

Of beast or bird had meanings clear. 

Like Apollonius of old, 320 

Who knew the tales the sparrows told, 

Or Hermes, who interpreted 

What the sage cranes of Nilus said ; 



n JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

A simple, guileless, childlike man, 

Content to live where life began ,* 325 

Strong only on his native grounds, 

The httle world of sights and sounds 

Whose girdle was the parish bounds. 

Whereof his fondly partial pride 

The common features magnified, 330 

As Surrey hills to mountains grew 

In White of Selborne's loving view, — 

He told how teal and loon he shot, 

And how the eagle's eggs he got, 

The feats on pond and river done, 335 1 

The prodigies of rod and gun ; 

Till, warming with the tales he told, 

Forgotten was the outside cold, , 

The bitter wind unheeded blew, ' 

From ripening corn the pigeons flew, 340 

The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink 

Went fishing down the river-brink. 

In fields with bean or clover gay, 

The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, 

Peered from the doorway of his cell ; 345 
The muskrat plied the mason's trade. 
And tier by tier his mud- walls laid ; 
And from the shagbark overhead 

The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. 

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer 350 

And voice in dreams I see and hear, — 

The sweetest woman ever Fate 

Perverse denied a household mate. 

Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 

Found peace in love's unselfishness, 355 

And welcome whereso'er she went, 

A calm and gracious element, 

Whose presence seemed the sweet income 

And womanly atmosphere of home, — 

Called up her girlhood memories, 360 

The huskings and the apple-bees. 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 13 

The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, 

Weaving through all the poor details 

And homespun warp of circumstance 

A golden woof -thread of romance. 365 

For well she kept her genial mood 

And simple faith of maidenhood ; 

Before her still a cloud-land lay, 

The mirage loomed across her way ; 

The morning dew, that dried so soon 370 

With others, glistened at her noon ; 

Through years of toil and soil and care, 

From glossy tress to thin gray hair. 

All unprofaned she held apart 

The virgin fancies of the heart. 375 

Be shame to him of woman born 

Who had for such but thought of scorn. 

There, too, our elder sister plied 
Her evening task the stand beside ; 
A full, rich nature, free to trust, 380 

Truthful and almost sternly just. 
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act. 
And make her generous thought a fact. 
Keeping with many a light disguise 
The secret of self-sacrifice. 385 

O heart sore- tried ! thou hast the best 
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest. 
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! 
How many a poor one's blessing went 
With thee beneath the low green tent 390 
Whose curtain never outward swings ! 

As one who held herself a part 
Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean, 
Upon the motley-braided mat 395 

Our youngest and our dearest sat. 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes. 
Now bathed within the fadeless green 
And holy peace of Paradise. 



14 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 

Or from the shade of saintly palms, 

Or silver reach of river calms, 
Do those large eyes behold me still ? 
With me one little year ago : — 
The chill weight of the winter snow 40^ 

For months upon her grave has lain ; 
And now, when summer south- winds blow 

And brier and harebell bloom again, 
I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
I see the violet- sprinkled sod, 410 

Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak 
The hillside flowers she loved to seek. 
Yet following me where'er I went 
With dark eyes full of love's content. 
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 415 

The air with sweetness ; all the hills 
Stretch green to June's unclouded sky ; 
But still I wait with ear and eye 
For something gone which should be nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 420 

In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 
And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee. 

Am I not richer than of old ? 
Safe in thy immortality. 

What change can reach the wealth I hold ? 425 

What chance can mar the pearl and gold 
Thy love hath left in trust with me ? 
And while in life's late afternoon. 

Where cool and long the shadows grow, 
I walk to meet the night that soon 430 

Shall shape and shadow overflow, 
I cannot feel that thou art far. 
Since near at need the angels are ; 
And when the sunset gates unbar. 

Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 435 

And, white against the evening star, 

The welcome of thy beckoning hand ? 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 15 

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, 

The master of the district school 

Held at the fire his favored place ; 440 

Its warm glow lit a laughing face 

Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 

The uncertain prophecy of beard. 

He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 

Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, 445 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 

In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 

Born the wild Northern hills among. 

From whence his yeoman father wrung 

By patient toil subsistence scant, 450 

Not competence and yet not want, 

He early gained the power to pay 

His cheerful, self-reliant way ; 

Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 

To peddle wares from town to town ; 455 

Or through the long vacation's reach 

In lonely lowland districts teach, 

Where all the droll experience found 

At stranger hearths in boarding round, 

The moonlit skater's keen delight, 460 

The sleigh-drive through the frosty night. 

The rustic party, with its rough 

Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff. 

And whirling plate, and forfeits paid. 

His winter task a pastime made. 465 

Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 

He tuned his merry violin. 

Or played the athlete in the barn. 

Or held the good dame's winding yarn. 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 470 

Of classic legends rare and old. 

Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 

Had all the commonplace of home. 

And little seemed at best the odds 

'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods ; 475 

Where Pindus-born Arachthus took 

The guise of any grist-mill brook, 



16 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

And dread Olympus at his will 

Became a huckleberry hill. 

A careless boy that night he seemed ; 480 

But at his desk he had the look 

And air of one who wisely schemed, 
And hostage from the future took 
In trained thought and lore of book. 

Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he 485 

ShaU Freedom's young apostles be, 

Who, following in War's bloody trail, 

Shall every lingering wrong assail ; 

All chains from limb and spirit strike, 

Uplift the black and white alike ; 490 

Scatter before their swift advance 

The darkness and the ignorance, 

The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth. 

Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 

Made murder pastime, and the hell 495 

Of prison-torture possible ; 

The cruel lie of caste refute. 

Old forms remould, and substitute 

For Slavery's lash the freeman's will. 

For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; 500 

A school-house plant on every hill. 

Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 

The quick wires of intelligence ; 

Till North and South together brought 

Shall own the same electric thought, 505 

In peace a common flag salute. 

And, side by side in labor's free 

And unresentful rivalry. 

Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 

Another guest that winter night 510 

Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. 

Unmarked by time, and yet not young. 

The honeyed music of her tongue 

And words of meekness scarcely told 

A nature passionate and bold, 615 

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 17 

Its milder features dwarfed beside 

Her unbent will's majestic pride. 

She sat among us, at the best, 

A not unf eared, half -welcome guest, 520 

Rebuking with her cultured phrase 

Our homeliness of words and ways. 

A certain pard-like, treacherous grace 

Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash. 
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash ; 525 

And under low brows, black with night, 
Rayed out at times a dangerous light ; 

The sharp heat-lightnings of her face 

Presaging ill to him whom Fate 

Condemned to share her love or hate. 630 

A woman tropical, intense 

In thought and act, in soul and sense, 

She blended in a like degree 

The vixen and the devotee. 

Revealing with each freak or feint 535 

The temper of Petruchio's Kate, 

The raptures of Siena's saint. 

Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 

Had facile power to form a fist ; 

The warm, dark languish of her eyes 540 

Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 

Brows saintly calm and lips devout 

Knew every change of scowl and pout ; 

And the sweet voice had notes more high 

And shrill for social battle-cry. 545 

Since then what old cathedral town 

Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, 

What convent-gate has held its lock 

Against the challenge of her knock ! 

Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, 550 

Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, 

Gray olive slopes of hills that hem 

Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, 

Or startling on her desert throne 

The crazy Queen of Lebanon 555 

With claims fantastic as her own. 



18 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Her tireless feet have held their way ; 
And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, 
She watches under Eastern skies. 

With hope each day renewed and fresh, 560 
The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, 
Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! 
Where'er her troubled path maj^ be. 

The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! 
The outward wayward life we see, 565 

The hidden springs we may not know. 
Nor is it given us to discern 

What threads the fatal sisters spun. 

Through what ancestral years has run 
The sorrow with the woman born, 570 

What forged her cruel chain of moods, 
What set her feet in solitudes. 

And held the love within her mute, 
What mingled madness in the blood, 

A lifelong discord and annoy, 675 

Water of tears with oil of joy. 
And hid within the folded bud 

Perversities of flower and fruit. 
It is not ours to separate 

The tangled skein of will and fate, 580 

To show what metes and bounds should stand 
Upon the soul's debatable land. 
And between choice and Providence 
Divide the circle of events ; 

But He who knows our frame is just, 585 

Merciful and compassionate. 
And full of sweet assurances 
And hope for all the language is. 

That He remembereth we are dust ! 

At last the great logs, crumbling low, 590 

Sent out a dull and duller glow. 

The bull's-eye watch that hung in view. 

Ticking its weary circuit through, 

Pointed with mutely- warning sign 

Its black hand to the hour of nine. 595 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 19 

That sign the pleasant circle broke : 

My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, 

Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, 

And laid it tenderly away. 

Then roused himself to safely cover 600 

The dull red brand with ashes over. 

And while, with care, our mother laid 

The work aside, her steps she stayed 

One moment, seeking to express 

Her grateful sense of happiness 605 

For food and shelter, warmth and health, 

And love's contentment more than wealth, 

With simple wishes (not the weak. 

Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek. 

But such as warm the generous heart, 610 

O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) 

That none might lack, that bitter night. 

For bread and clothing, warmth and light. 

Within our beds awhile we heard 

The wind that round the gables roared, 615 

With now and then a ruder shock. 

Which made our very bedsteads rock. 

We heard the loosened clapboards tost, 

The board-nails snapping in the frost ; 

And on us, through the unplastered wall, 620 

Felt the lightsifted snow-flakes fall ; 

But sleep stole on, as sleep will do 

When hearts are light and life is new ; 

Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, 

Till in the summer-land of dreams 625 

They softened to the sound of streams, 

Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, 

And lapsing waves on quiet shores. 

Next morn we wakened with the shout 

Of merry voices high and clear ; 630 

And saw the teamsters drawing near 

To break the drifted highways out. 



so JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Down the long hillside treading slow 
We saw the half-buried oxen go, 
Shaking the snow from heads uptost, 635 

Their straining nostrils white with frost. 
Before our door the straggling train 
Drew up, an added team to gain. 
The elders threshed their hands a-cold, 
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes 640 
From lip to lip ; the younger folks 
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, 
Then toiled again the cavalcade 
O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, 
And woodland paths that wound between 645 
Low droopiiig-pine-boughs winter- weighed. 
From every barn a team afoot. 
At every house a new recruit. 
Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, 
Haply the watchful young men saw 650 

Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 
And curious eyes of merry girls, 
Lifting their hands in mock defence 
Against the snow-balls' compliments, 
And reading in each missive tost 655 

The charm which Eden never lost. 

We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound ; 

And, following where the teamsters led. 

The wise old Doctor went his round. 

Just pausing at our door to say 660 

In the brief autocratic way 

Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, 

Was free to urge her claim on all. 

That some poor neighbor sick abed 
At night our mother's aid would need. 665 

For, one in generous thought and deed. 

What mattered in the sufferer's sight 

The Quaker matron's inward light, 
The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? 
All hearts confess the saints elect 670 

Who, twain in faith, in love agree, 



SNOW-BOUND: A WINTER IDYL 21 

And melt not in an acid sect 
The Christian pearl of charity ! 

So days went on : a week had passed 
Since the great world was heard from last. 675 
The Almanac we studied o'er, 
Read and reread our little store 
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; 
One harmless novel, mostly hid 
From younger eyes, a book forbid, 680 

And poetry, (or good or bad, 
A single book was all we had,) 
Where Ell wood's meek, drab- skirted Muse, 

A stranger to the heathen Nine, 

Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, 685 
The wars of David and the Jews. 
At last the floundering carrier bore 
The village paper to our door. 
Lo ! broadening outward as we read, 
To warmer zones the horizon spread ; 690 

In panoramic length unrolled 
We saw the marvel that it told. 
Before us passed the painted Creeks, 

And daft McGregor on his raids 

In Costa Rica's everglades. 695 

And up Taygetus winding slow 
Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, 
A Turk's head at each saddle bow ! 
Welcome to us its week-old news. 
Its corner for the rustic Muse, 700 

Its monthly gauge of snow and rain. 
Its record, mingling in a breath 
The wedding bell and dirge of death : 
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, 
The latest culprit sent to jail; 705 

Its hue and cry of stolen and lost. 
Its vendue sales and goods at cost. 

And traffic calling loud for gain. 
We felt the stir of hall and street, 
The pulse of life that round us beat ; 710 



22 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

The chill embargo of the snow 
Was melted in the genial glow ; 
Wide swung again our ice-locked door. 
And all the world was ours once more ! 

Clasp, Angel of the backward look 716 

And folded wings of ashen gray 

And voice of echoes far away, 
The brazen covers of thy book ; 
The weird palimpsest old and vast, 
Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past ; 720 

Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
The characters of joy and woe ; 
The monographs of outlived years. 
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, 

Green hills of life that slope to death, 725 
And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees 
Shade off to mournful cypresses 

With the white amaranths underneath. 
Even while I look, I can but heed 

The restless sands' incessant fall, 730 

Importunate hours that hours succeed. 
Each clamorous with its own sharp need. 

And duty keeping pace with all. 
Shut down and clasp the heavy lids ; 
I hear again the voice that bids 735 

The dreamer leave his dream midway 
For larger hopes and graver fears : 
Life greatens in these later years. 
The century's aloe flowers to-day ! 

Yet, haply, in some lull of life, 740 

Some Truce of God which breaks the strife. 
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew. 

Dreaming in throngful city ways 
Of winter joys his boyhood knew; 
And dear and early friends — the few 745 

Who yet remain — shall pause to view 

These Flemish pictures of old days ; 
Sit with me by the homestead hearth. 



AMONG THE HILLS 23 

And stretch the hands of memory forth 

To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! 750 
And thanks untraced to lips unknown 
Shall greet me like the odors blown 
From unseen meadows newly mown, 
Or lilies floating in some pond, 
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond ; 755 

The traveller owns the grateful sense 
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence. 
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare 
The benediction of the air. 



AMONG THE HILLS 

PRELUDE 

Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold 
That tawny Incas for their gardens wrought. 
Heavy with sunshine droops the golden- rod. 
And the red pennons of the cardinal-flowers 
Hang motionless upon their upright staves. 5 

The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind. 
Wing- weary with its long flight from the south, 
Unf elt ; yet, closely scanned, yon maple leaf 
With faintest motion, as one stirs in dreams, 
Confesses it. The locust by the wall 10 

Stabs the noon- silence with his sharp alarm. 
A single hay-cart down the dusty road 
Creaks slowly, with its driver fast asleep 
On the load's top. Against the neighboring hill. 
Huddled along the stone wall's shady side, 15 

The sheep show white, as if a snowdrift still 
Defied the dog-star. Through the open door 
A drowsy smell of flowers — gray heliotrope. 
And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette — 
Comes faintly in, and silent chorus lends 20 

To the pervading symphony of peace. 



£4 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

No time is this for hands long over-worn 

To task their strength : and (unto Him be praise 

Who giveth quietness !) the stress and strain 

Of years that did the work of centuries 25 

Have ceased, and we can draw our breath once 

more 
Freely and full. So, as yon harvesters 
Make glad their nooning underneath the elms 
With tale and riddle and old snatch of song, 
I lay aside grave themes, and idly turn 30 

The leaves of memory's sketch-book, dreaming o'er 
Old summer pictures of the quiet hills, 
And human life, as quiet, at their feet. 

And yet not idly all. A farmer's son, 

Proud of field-lore and harvest craft ; and feeling 35 

All their fine possibilities, how rich 

And restful even poverty and toil 

Become when beauty, harmony, and love 

Sit at their humble hearth as angels sat 

At evening in the patriarch's tent, when man 40 

Makes labor noble, and his farmer's frock 

The symbol of a Christian chivalry. 

Tender and just and generous to her 

Who clothes with grace all duty ; still, I know 

Too well the picture has another side. 45 

How wearily the grind of toil goes on 

Where love is wanting, how the eye and ear 

And heart are starved amidst the plenitude 

Of nature, and how hard and colorless 

Is life without an atmosphere. I look 50 

Across the lapse of half a century. 

And a call to mind old homesteads, where no 

flower 
Told that the spring had come, but evil weeds, 
Nightshade and rough-leaved burdock, in the place 
Of the sweet doorway greeting of the rose 55 

And honeysuckle, where the house walls seemed 
Blistering in sun, without a tree or vine 
To cast the tremulous shadow of its leaves 



AMONG THE HILLS 25 

Across the curtainless windows from whose panes 
Fluttered the signal rags of shiftlessness ; 60 

Within, the cluttered kitchen floor, unwashed 
(Broom-clean I think they called it) ; the best room 
Stifling with cellar damp, shut from the air 
In hot midsummer, bookless, pictureless 
Save the inevitable sampler hung 65 

Over the fireplace, or a mourning piece, 
A green-haired woman, peony-cheeked, beneath 
Impossible willows ; the wide-throated hearth 
Bristling with faded pine-boughs half concealing 
The piled-up rubbish at the chimney's back ; 70 
And, in sad keeping with all things about them. 
Shrill, querulous women, sour and sullen men, 
Untidy, loveless, old before their time. 
With scarce a human interest save their own 
Monotonous round of small economies, 75 

Or the poor scandal of the neighborhood ; 
Blind to the beauty everywhere revealed, 
Treading the May-flowers with regardless feet ; 
For them the song-sparrow and the bobolink 
Sang not, nor winds made music in the leaves ; 80 
For them in vain October's holocaust 
Burned, gold and crimson, over all the hills. 
The sacramental mystery of the woods. 
Church-goers, fearful of the unseen Powers, 
But grumbling over pulpit- tax and pew-rent, 85 
Saving, as shrewd economists, their souls 
And winter pork with the least possible outlay 
Of salt and sanctity ; in daily life 
Showing as little actual comprehension 
Of Christian charity and love and duty, 90 

As if the Sermon on the Mount had been 
Outdated like a last year's almanac : 
Rich in broad woodlands and in half-tilled fields, 
And yet so pinched and bare and comfortless, 
The veriest straggler limping on his rounds, 95 
The sun and air his sole inheritance, 
Laughed at poverty that paid its taxes. 
And hugged his rags in self-complacency I 



26 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Not such should be the homesteads of a land 
Where whoso wisely wills and acts may dwell lOO 
As king and lawgiver, in broad-acred state, 
With beauty, art, taste, culture, books, to make 
His hour of leisure richer than a life 
Of fourscore to the barons of old time ; 
Our yeoman should be equal to his home, 105 

Set in the fair, green valleys, purple walled, 
A man to match his mountains, not to creep 
Dwarfed and abased below them. I would fain 
In this light way (of which I needs must own 
With the knife-grinder of whom Canning sings, no 
" Story, God bless you ! I have none to tell you ! ") 
Invite the eye to see and heart to feel 
The beauty and the joy within their reach, — 
Home, and home loves, and the beatitudes 
Of nature free to all. Haply in years 115 

That wait to take the places of our own. 
Heard where some breezy balcony looks down 
On happy homes, or where the lake in the moon 
Sleeps dreaming of the mountains, fair as Ruth, 
In the old Hebrew pastoral, at the feet 120 

Of Boaz, even this simple lay of mine 
May seem the burden of a prophecy. 
Finding its late fulfilment in a change 
Slow as the oak's growth, lifting manhood up 
Through broader culture, finer manners, love, 125 
And reverence, to the level of the hills. 

O Golden Age, whose light is of the dawn, 

And not of sunset, forward, not behind, 

Flood the new heavens and earth, and with thee 

bring 
All the old virtues, whatsoever things 130 

Are pure and honest and of good repute, 
But add thereto whatever bard has sung 
Or seer has told of when in trance or dream 
They sfe,w the Happy Isles of prophecy ! 
Let Justice hold her scale, and Truth divide 135 
Between the right and wrong ; but give the heart 



AMONG THE HILLS 27 

The freedom of its fair inheritance; 

Let the poor prisoner, cramped and starved so 

long, 
At Nature's table feast his ear and eye 
With joy and wonder; let all harmonies 140 

Of sound, form, color, motion, wait upon 
The princely guest, whether in soft attire 
Of leisure clad, or the coarse frock of toil, 
And, lending life to the dead form of faith, 
Give human nature reverence for the sake 145 

Of One who bore it, making it divine 
With the ineffable tenderness of God ; 
Let common need, the brotherhood of prayer, 
The heirship of an unknown destiny. 
The unsolved mystery round about us, make 150 
A man more precious than the gold of Ophir. 
Sacred, inviolate, unto whom all things 
Should minister, as outward types and signs 
Of the eternal beauty which fulfils 
The one great purpose of creation. Love, 155 

The sole necessity of Earth and Heaven ! 



AMONG THE HILLS 

For vreeks the clouds had raked the hills 

And vexed the vales with raining. 
And all the woods were sad with mist, 

And all the brooks complaining. 160 

At last, a sudden night-storm tore 

The mountain veils asunder. 
And swept the valleys clean before 

The besom of the thunder. 

Through Sandwich Notch the west- wind sang 165 

Good morrow to the cotter ; 
And once again Chocorua's horn 

Of shadow pierced the water. 



28 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Above his broad lake Ossipee, 

Once more the. sunshine wearing, 170 

Stooped, tracing on that silver shield 

His grim armorial bearing. 

Clear drawn against the hard blue sky 
The peaks had winter's keenness ; 

And, close on autumn's frost, the vales 175 
Had more than June's fresh greenness. 

Again the sodden forest floors 

With golden lights were checkered, 

Once more rejoicing leaves in wind 
And sunshine danced and flickered. I8O 

It was as if the summer's late 

Atoning for its sadness 
Had borrowed every season's charm 

To end its days in gladness. 

I call to mind those banded vales 185 

Of shadow and of shining. 
Through which, my hostess at my side, 

I drove in day's declining. 

We held our sideling way above 

The river's whitening shallows, 190 

By homesteads old, with wide-flung barns 

Swept through and through by swallows, — 

By maple orchards, belts of pine 

And larches climbing darkly 
The mountain slopes, and, over all, 195 

The great peaks rising starkly. 

You should have seen that long hill-range 
With gaps of brightness riven, — 

How through each pass and hollow streamed 
The purpling lights of heaven, — 200 



AMONG THE HILLS 29 

Rivers of gold-mist flowing down 

From far celestial fountains, — 
The great sun flaming through the rifts 

Beyond the wall of mountains ! 

We paused at last where home-bound cows 205 
Brought down the pasture's treasure, 

And in the barn the rhythmic flails 
Beat out a harvest measure. 

We heard the night hawk's sullen plunge, 

The crow his tree-mates calling : 210 

The shadows lengthening down the slopes 
About our feet were falHng, 

And through them smote the level sun 

In broken lines of splendor. 
Touched the gray rocks and made the green 215 

Of the shorn grass more tender. 

The maples bending o'er the gate, 

Their arch of leaves just tinted 
With yellow warmth, the golden glow 

Of coming autumn hinted. 220 

Keen white between the farm-house showed. 

And smiled on porch and trellis 
The fair democracy of flowers 

That equals cot and palace. 

And weaving garlands for her dog, 225 

'Twixt chidings and caresses, 
A human flower of childhood shook 

The sunshine from her tresses. 

On either hand we saw the signs 

Of fancy and of shrewdness, 230 

Where taste had wound its arms of vines 

Round thrift's uncomely rudeness. 



30 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

The sun-brown farmer in his frock 
Shook hands, and called to Mary : 

Bare-armed, as Juno might, she came, 235 
White-aproned from her dairy. 

Her air, her smile, her motions, told 
Of womanly completeness ; ■ 

A music as of household songs 

Was in her voice of sweetness. 240 

Not beautiful in curve and line 
But something more and better. 

The secret charm eluding art, 
Its spirit, not its letter ; — 

An inborn grace that nothing lacked 245 

Of culture or appliance, — 
The warmth of genial courtesy, 

The calm of self-reliance. 

Before her queenly womanhood 
How dared our hostess utter 250 

The paltry errand of her need 
To buy her fresh-churned butter ? 

She led the way with housewife pride» 

Her goodly store disclosing. 
Full tenderly the golden balls 255 

With practised hands disposing. 

Then, while along the western hills 
We watched the changeful glory 

Of sunset, on our homeward way, 
I heard her simple story. 260 

The early crickets sang ; the stream 
Plashed through my friend's narration : 

Her rustic patois of the hills 
Lost in my free translation. 



AMONG THE HILLS 31 

" More wise," she said, " than those who swarm 265 

Our hills in middle summer, 
She came, when June's first roses blow, 

To greet the early comer. 

" From school and ball and rout she came. 
The city's fair, pale daughter, 270 

To drink the wine of mountain air 
Beside the Bearcamp Water. 

" Her step grew firmer on the hills 

That watch our homesteads over ; 
On cheek and lip, from summer fields, 275 

She caught the bloom of clover. 

" For health comes sparkling in the streams 

From cool Chocorua stealing; 
There 's iron in our Northern winds ; 

Our pines are trees of healing. 280 

" She sat beneath the broad-armed elms 

That skirt the mowing-meadow. 
And watched the gentle west- wind weave 

The grass with shine and shadow. 

" Beside her, from the summer heat 285 

To share her grateful screening. 
With forehead bared, the farmer stood, 

Upon his pitchfork leaning. 

" Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face 
Had nothing mean or common, — 290 

Strong, manly, true, the tenderness 
And pride beloved of woman. 

" She looked up, glowing with the health 

The country air had brought her. 
And, laughing, said : ' You lack a wife, 295 

Your mother lacks a daughter. 



32 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

" ' To mend your frock and bake your bread 

You do not need a lady : 
Be sure among these brown old homes 

Is some one waiting ready, — 300 

Some fair, sweet girl, with skilful hand 
And cheerful heart for treasure, 
Who never played with ivory keys, 
Or danced the polka's measure.' 

" He bent his black brows to a frown, 305 

He set his white teeth tightly. 
* 'T is well,' he said, * for one like you 

To choose for me so lightly. 

" ' You think, because my life is rude, 

I take no note of sweetness : 310 

I tell you love has naught to do 
With meetness or unmeetness. 

" * Itself its best excuse, it asks 

No leave of pride or fashion 
When silken zone or homespun frock 315 

It stirs with throbs of passion. 

You think me deaf and blind ; you bring 
Your winning graces hither 
As free as if from cradle-time 
We two had played together. 320 

You tempt me with your laughing eyes. 
Your cheek of sundown's blushes, 
A motion as of waving grain, 
A music as of thrushes. 

The plaything of your summer sport, 325 
The spells you weave around me 
You cannot at your will undo, 
Nor leave me as you found me. 



AMONG THE HILLS 33 

You go as lightly as you came, 
Your life is well without me ; 330 

What care you that these hills will close 
Like prison walls about me ? 

No mood is mine to seek a wife. 
Or daughter for my mother : 
Who loves you loses in that love 335 

All power to love another ! 

" ' I dare your pity or your scorn. 
With pride your own exceeding ; 

I fling my heart into your lap 
Without a word of pleading.' 340 

" She looked up in his face of pain. 

So archly, yet so tender : 
' And if I lend you mine,' she said, 

' Will you forgive the lender ? 

Nor frock nor tan can hide the man ; 345 
And see you not, my farmer. 
How weak and fond a woman waits 
Behind this silken armor ? 

" ' I love you : on that love alone, 

And not my worth, presuming, 350 

Will you not trust for summer fruit 

The tree in May-day blooming?' 

" Alone the hangbird overhead. 
His hair-swung cradle staining. 

Looked down to see love's miracle, — 355 
The giving' that is gaining 

" And so the farmer found a wife. 

His mother found a daughter : 
There looks no happier home than hers 

On pleasant Bearcamp Water. 360 



34 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

" Flowers spring to blossom where she walks 

The careful ways of duty ; 
Our hard, stiff lines of life with her 

Are flowing curves of beauty. 

" Our homes are cheerier for her sake, 365 

Our door-yards brighter blooming, 

And all about the social air 
Is sweeter for her coming. 

" Unspoken homilies of peace 

Her daily life is preaching ; 370 

The still refreshment of the dew 

Is her unconscious teaching. 

" And never tenderer hand than hers 

Unknits the brow of ailing ; 
Her garments to the sick man's ear 375 

Have music in their trailing. 

" And when, in pleasant harvest moons, 

The youthful buskers gather, 
Or sleigh-drives on the mountain ways 

Defy the winter weather, — 380 

" In sugar-camps, when south and warm 
The winds of March are blowing. 

And sweetly from its thawing veins 
The maple's blood is flowing, — 

" In summer, where some lilied pond 385 

Its virgin zone is baring. 
Or where the ruddy autumn fire 

Lights up the apple-paring, — 

" The coarseness of a ruder time 

Her finer mirth displaces, 390 

A subtler sense of pleasure fills 

Each rustic sport she graces. 



AMONG THE HILLS 35 

" Her presence lends its warmth and health 

To all who come before it. 
If woman lost us Eden, such 395 

As she alone restore it. 

" For larger life and wiser aims 

The farmer is her debtor ; 
Who holds to his another's heart 

Must needs be worse or better. 400 

" Through her his civic service shows 

A purer-toned ambition ; 
No double consciousness divides 

The man and politician. 

" In party's doubtful ways he trusts 405 

Her instincts to determine ; 
At the loud polls, the thought of her 

Recalls Christ's Mountain Sermon. 

" He owns her logic of the heart, 

And wisdom of unreason, 410 

Supplying, while he doubts and weighs, 

The needed word in season. 

" He sees with pride her richer thought. 

Her fancy's freer ranges ; 
And love thus deepened to respect 415 

Is proof against all changes. 

" And if she walks at ease in ways 

His feet are slow to travel. 
And if she reads with cultured eyes 

What his may scarce unravel, 420 

" Still clearer, for her keener sight 

Of beauty and of wonder. 
He learns the meaning of the hills 

He dwelt from childhood under. 



36 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

" And higher, warmed with summer lights, 425 

Or winter-crowned and hoary, 
The rigid horizon lifts for him 

Its inner veils of glory. 

" He has his own free, bookless lore, 

The lessons nature taught him, 430 

The wisdom which the woods and hills 
And toiling men have brought him : 

" The steady force of will whereby 
Her flexile grace seems sweeter ; 

The sturdy counterpoise which makes 435 

Her woman's life completer : 

" A latent fire of soul which lacks 

No breath of love to fan it ; 
And wit, that like his native brooks, 

Plays over solid granite. 440 

" How dwarfed against his manliness 

She sees the poor pretension, 
The wants, the aims, the follies, born 

Of fashion and convention ! 

" How life behind its accidents 445 

Stands strong and self-sustaining, 

The human fact transcending all 
The losing and the gaining. 

" And so, in grateful interchange 

Of teacher and of hearer, 450 

Their lives their true distinctness keep 

While daily drawing nearer. 

" And if the husband or the wife 
In home's strong light discovers 

Such slight defaults as failed to meet 455 

The blinded eyes of lovers. 



AMONG THE HILLS 37 

"Why need we care to ask? — who dreams 

Without their thorns of roses, 
Or wonders that the truest steel 

The readiest spark discloses ? 460 

" For still in mutual sufferance lies 

The secret of true living : 
Love scarce is love that never knows 

The sweetness of forgiving. 

" We send the Squire to General Court, 465 
He takes his young wife thither ; 

No prouder man election day 
Rides through the sweet June weather. 

" He sees with eyes of manly trust 

All hearts to her inclining ; 470 

Not less for him his household light 

That others share its shining." 

Thus, while my hostess spake, there grew 

Before me, warmer tinted 
And outlined with a tenderer grace, 475 

The picture that she hinted. 

The sunset smouldered as we drove 

Beneath the deep hill-shadows. 
Below us wreaths of white fog walked 

Like ghosts the haunted meadows. 480 

Sounding the summer night, the stars 
Dropped down their golden plummets 

The pale arc of the Northern lights 
Rose o'er the mountain summits, — 

Until, at last, beneath its bridge, 485 

We heard the Bearcamp flowing. 

And saw across the mapled lawn 

The welcome home-lights glowing ; — 



38 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

And, musing on the tale I heard, 

'T were well, thought I, if often, 490 

To rugged farm-life came the gift 

To harmonize and soften ; — 

If more and more we found the troth 

Of fact and fancy plighted. 
And culture's charm and labor's strength 495 

In rural homes united, — 

The simple life, the homely hearth. 
With beauty's sphere surrounding. 

And blessing toil where toil abounds 
With graces more abounding. 500 



SONGS OF LABOR 

DEDICATION 



I WOULD the gift I offer here 

Might graces from thy favor take. 
And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, 
On softened lines and coloring, wear 
The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. 5 

Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain : 

But what I have I give to thee. 
The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain. 
And paler flowers, the later rain 9 

Calls from the westering slope of life's iautumnal lea. 

Above the fallen groves of green. 

Where youth's enchanted forest stood, 
Dry root and mossed trunk between, 
A sober after-growth is seen. 
As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple 
wood! 15 



SONGS OF LABOR 39 

Yet birds will sing, and breezes play 

Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree ;: 
And through the bleak and wintry day- 
It keeps its steady green alway, — 
So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for 
thee. 20 » 

Art's perfect forms no moral need, 

And beauty is its own excuse ; 
But for the dull and flowerless weed 
Some healing virtue still must plead. 
And the rough ore must find its honors in its use^. 25 

So haply these, my simple lays 

Of homely toil, may serve to show 
The orchard bloom and tasselled maize 
That skirt and gladden duty's ways. 
The unsung beauty hid life's common things below. 30 

Haply from them the toiler, bent 

Above his forge or plough, may gain 
A manlier spirit of content. 
And feel that life is wisest spent 
Where the strong working hand makes strong the 
working brain. 35 

The doom which to the guilty pair 
Without the walls of Eden came. 
Transforming sinless ease to care 
And rugged toil, no more shall bear 
The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. 40 

A blessing now, a curse no more ; 

Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, 
The coarse mechanic vesture wore, 
A poor man toiling with the poor. 
In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. 45 



40 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 



THE SHOEMAKERS 

Ho ! workers of the old time styled 

The Gentle Craft of Leather! 
Young brothers of the ancient guild, 

Stand forth once more together ! 
Call out again your long array, 60 

In the olden merry manner ! 
Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day. 

Fling out your blazoned banner ! 

Rap, rap ! upon the well-worn stone 

How falls the polished hammer ! 55 

Rap, rap ! the measured sound has grown 

A quick and merry clamor. 
Now shape the sole ! now deftly curl 

The glossy vamp around it. 
And bless the while the bright-eyed girl 60 

Whose gentle fingers bound it ! 

For you, along the Spanish main 

A hundred keels are ploughing ; 
For you, the Indian on the plain 

His lasso-coil is throwing ; 65 

For you, deep glens with hemlock dark 

The woodman's fire is lighting; 
For you, upon the oak's gray bark, 

The woodman's axe is smiting. 

For you, from Carolina's pine 70 

The rosin-gum is stealing; 
For you, the dark-eyed Florentine 

Her silken skein is reeling ; 
For you, the dizzy goatherd roams 

His rugged Alpine ledges ; 75 

For you, round all her shepherd homes, 

Bloom England's thorny hedges. 

The foremost still, by day or night. 
On moated mound or heather. 



SONGS OF LABOR 41 

Where'er the need of trampled right 80 

Brought toiUng men together ; 
Where the free burghers from the wall 

Defied the mail-clad master, 
Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, 

No craftsman rallied faster. 85 

Let f oplings sneer, let fools deride. 

Ye heed no idle scorner ; 
Free hands and hearts are still your pride. 

And duty done, your honor. 
Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, 90 

The jury Time empanels. 
And leave to truth each noble name 

Which glorifies your annals. 

Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are living yet. 

In strong and hearty German ; 95 

And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit. 

And patriot fame of Sherman ; 
Still from his book, a mystic seer. 

The soul of Behmen teaches. 
And England's priestcraft shakes to hear lOO 

Of Fox's leathern breeches. 

The foot is yours ; where'er it falls, 

It treads your well- wrought leather 
On earthen floor, in marble halls, 

On carpet, or on heather. 105 

Still there the sweetest charm is found 

Of matron grace or vestal's. 
As Hebe's foot bore nectar round 

Among the old celestials ! 

Rap, rap ! your stout and rough brogan, 110 

With footsteps slow and weary. 
May wander where the sky's blue span 

Shuts down upon the prairie. 
On Beauty's foot your slippers glance. 

By Saratoga's fountains, 115 



42 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Or twinkle down the summer dance 
Beneath the Crystal Mountains ! 

The red brick to the mason's hand, 

The brown earth to the tiller's. 
The shoe in yours shall wealth command, 120 

Like fairy Cinderella's ! 
As they who shunned the household maid 

Beheld the crown upon her. 
So all shall see your toil repaid 

With hearth and home and honor. 125 

Then let the toast be freely quaffed. 

In water cool and brimming, — 
" All honor to the good old Craft, 

Its merry men and women ! " 
Call out again your long array, 130 

In the old time's pleasant manner: 
Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day. 

Fling out his blazoned banner ! 



THE FISHERMEN 

HuKRAH ! the seaward breezes 

Sweep down the bay amain ; 135 

Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! 

Run up the sail again ! 
Leave to the lubber landsmen 

The rail-car and the steed ; 
The stars of heaven shall guide us, 140 

The breath of heaven shall speed. 

From the hill-top looks the steeple. 

And the light-house from the sand ; 
And the scattered pines are waving 

Their farewell from the land. 145 

One glance, my lads, behind us, 

For the homes we leave one sigh 
Ere we take the change and chances 

Of the ocean and the sky. 



SONGS OF LABOR 43 

Now, brothers, for the icebergs 150 

Of frozen Labrador, 
Floating spectral in the moonshine, 

Along the low, black shore ! 
Where like snow the gannet's feathers 

On Brador's rocks are shed, 155 

And the noisy murr are flying. 

Like black scuds, overhead ; 

Where in mist the rock is hiding. 

And the sharp reef lurks below. 
And the white squall smites in summer, I6O 

And the autumn tempests blow ; 
Where through gray and rolling vapor, 

From evening unto morn, 
A thousand boats are hailing, 

Horn answering unto horn. 165 

Hurrah ! for the Red Island, 

With the white cross on its crown 1 
Hurrah! for Mecca tin a. 

And its mountains bare and brown ! 
Where the Caribou's tall antlers 170 

O'er the dwarf- wood freely toss. 
And the footstep of the Mickmack 

Has no sound upon the moss. 

There we '11 drop our lines, and gather 

Old Ocean's treasures in, 175 

Where'er the mottled mackerel 

Turns up a steel-dark fin. 
The sea 's our field of harvest. 

Its scaly tribes our grain ; 
We '11 reap the teeming waters I8O 

As at home they reap the plain ! 

Our wet hands spread the carpet, 

And light the hearth of home ; 
From our fish, as in the old time, 

The silver coin shall come. 185 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

As the demon fled the chamber 

Where the fish of Tobit lay, 
So ours from all our dwellings 

Shall frighten Want away. 

Though the mist upon our jackets 190 

In the bitter air congeals, 
And our lines wind stiff and slowly 

From off the frozen reels ; 
Though the fog be dark around us, 

And the storm blow high and loud, 195 

We will whistle down the wild wind, 

And laugh beneath the cloud ! 

In the darkness as in daylight. 

On the water as on land, 
God's eye is looking on us, 200 

And beneath us is His hand 
Death will find us soon or later. 

On the deck or in the cot ; 
And we cannot meet him better 

Than in working out our lot. 205 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! the west- wind 

Comes freshening down the bay. 
The rising sails are filling ; 

Give way, my lads, give way ! 
Leave the coward landsman clinging 210 

To the dull earth, like a weed ; 
The stars of heaven shall guide us. 

The breath of heaven shall speed ! 



THE LUMBERMEN 

Wildly round our woodland quarters 

Sad- voiced Autumn grieves ; 215 

Thickly down these swelling waters 
Float his fallen leaves. 



SONGS OF LABOR 45 

Through the tall and naked timber. 

Column-like and old. 
Gleam the sunsets of November, 220 

From their skies of gold. 

O'er us, to the southland heading. 

Screams the gray wild-goose ; 
On the night- frost sounds the treading 

Of the brindled moose. 225 

Noiseless creeping, while we 're sleeping. 

Frost his task- work plies ; 
Soon, his icy bridges heaping. 

Shall our log-piles rise. 

When, with sounds of smothered thunder, 230 

On some night of rain, 
Lake and river break asunder 

Winter's weakened chain, 
Down the wild March flood shall bear them 

To the saw-mill's wheel, 235 

Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them 

With his teeth of steel. 

Be it starlight, be it moonlight. 

In these vales below. 
When the earliest beams of sunlight 240 

Streak the mountain's snow. 
Crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early. 

To our hurrying feet. 
And the forest echoes clearly, 

All our blows repeat. 245 

Where the crystal Ambijejis 

Stretches broad and clear. 
And Millnoket's pine-black ridges 

Hide the browsing deer ; 
Where, through lakes and wide morasses, 250 

Or through rocky walls. 
Swift and strong, Penobscot passes 

White with foamy falls ; 



46 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Where, through clouds, are glimpses given 

Of Katahdin's sides, — 255 

Hock and forest piled to heaven, 

Torn and ploughed by slides ! 
F'dT below, the Indian trapping. 

In the sunshine warm ; 
Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping 260 

Half the peak in storm ! 

Where are mossy carpets better 

Than the Persian weaves. 
And than Eastern perfumes sweeter 

Seem the fading leaves ; 265 

And a music wild and solemn. 

From the pine-tree's height. 
Rolls its vast and sea-like volume 

On the wind of night ; 

Make we here our camp of winter ; 270 

And, through sleet and snow. 
Pitchy knot and beechen splinter 

On our hearth shall glow. 
Here, with mirth to lighten duty. 

We shall lack alone 275 

Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, 

Childhood's lisping tone. 

But their hearth is brighter burning 

For our toil to-day ; 
And the welcome of returning 280 

Shall our loss repay. 
When, like seamen from the waters, 

From the woods we come. 
Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, 

Angels of our home ! 285 

Not for us the measured ringing 

From the village spire, 
Not for us the Sabbath singing 

Of the sweet- voiced choir ; 



SONGS OF LABOR 47 

Ours the old, majestic temple, 290 

Where God's brightness shines 
Down the dome so grand and ample. 

Propped by lofty pines ! 

Through each branch-enwoven skylight, 

Speaks He in the breeze, 295 

As of old beneath the twilight 

Of lost Eden's trees ! 
For His ear, the inward feeling 

Needs no outward tongue ; 
He can see the spirit kneeling 300 

While the axe is swung. 

Heeding truth alone, and turning 

From the false and dim. 
Lamp of toil or altar burning 

Are alike to Him. 305 

Strike, then, comrades ! Trade is waiting 

On our rugged toil ; 
Far ships waiting for the freighting 

Of our woodland spoil ! 

Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, 310 

Bleak and cold, of ours. 
With the citron-planted islands 

Of a clime of flowers ; 
To our frosts the tribute bringing 

Of eternal heats ,* 315 

In our lap of winter flinging 

Tropic fruits and sweets. 

Cheerly, on the axe of labor. 

Let the sunbeams dance. 
Better than the flash of sabre 320 

Or the gleam of lance ! 
Strike ! With every blow is given 

Freer sun and sky, 
And the long-hid earth to heaven 

Looks, with wondering eye ! 325 



48 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Loud behind us grow the murmurs 

Of the age to come ; 
Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers. 

Bearing harvest home ! 
Here her virgin lap with treasures 330 

Shall the green earth fill ; 
Waving wheat and golden maize-ears 

Crown each beechen hill. 

Keep who will the city's alleys, 

Take the smooth-shorn plain ; 335 

Give to us the cedarn valleys. 

Rocks and hills of Maine ! 
In our North-land, wild and woody. 

Let us still have part ; 
Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, 340 

Hold us to thy heart ! 

Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer 

For thy breath of snow ; 
And our tread is all the firmer 

For thy rocks below. 345 

Freedom, hand in hand with labor, 

Walketh strong and brave ; 
On the forehead of his neighbor 

No man writeth Slave ! 

Lo, the day breaks ! old Katahdin's 350 

Pine-trees show its fires, 
While from these dim forest gardens 

Rise their blackened spires. 
Up, my comrades ! up and doing I 

Manhood's rugged play 355 

Still renewing, bravely hewing 

Through the world our way ! 



SONGS OF LABOR 49 



THE SHIP-BUILDERS 

The sky is ruddy in the east, 

The earth is gray below. 
And spectral in the river-mist, 360 

The ship's white timbers show. 
Then let the sounds of measured stroke 

And grating saw begin ; ^ 
The broad-axe to the gnarled oak, 

The mallet to the pin ! 365 

Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast, 

The sooty smithy jars, 
The fire-sparks, rising far and fast. 

Are fading with the stars. 
All day for us the smith shall stand 370 

Beside that flashing forge ; 
AU day for us his heavy hand 

The groaning anvil scourge. 

From far-off hills, the panting team 

For us is toiling near ; 375 

For us the raftsmen down the stream 

Their island barges steer. 
Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke 

In forests old and still ; 
For us the century-circled oak 380 

Falls crashing down his hill. 

Up ! up ! in nobler toil than ours 

No craftsmen bear a part : 
We make of Nature's giant powers 

The slaves of human Art. 385 

Lay rib to rib and beam to beam. 

And drive the treenails free ; 
Nor faithless jomt nor yawnmg seam 

Shall tempt the searching sea ! 

Where'er the keel of our good ship 390 

The sea's rough field shall plough ; 



50 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Where'er her tossing spars shall drip 

With salt-spray caught below ; 
That ship must heed her master's beck 

Her helm obey his hand, 395 

And seamen tread her reeling deck 

As if they trod the land. 

Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak 

Of Northern ice may peel ; 
The sunken rock and coral peak 400 

May grate along her keel ; 
And know we well the painted shell 

We give to wind and wave, 
Must float, the sailor's citadel, 

Or sink, the sailor's grave ! 405 

Ho ! strike away the bars and blocks. 

And set the good ship free ! 
Why lingers on these dusty rocks 

The young bride of the sea ? 
Look ! how she moves adown the grooves, 410 

In graceful beauty now ! 
How lowly on the breast she loves 

Sinks down her virgin prow! 

God bless her ! Wheresoe'er the breeze 

Her snowy wing shall fan, 415 

Aside the frozen Hebrides 

Or sultry Hindostan ! 
Where'er, in mart or on the main. 

With peaceful flag unfurled. 
She helps to wind the silken chain 420 

Of commerce round the world ! 

Speed on the ship ! But let her bear 

No merchandise of sin. 
No groaning cargo of despair 

Her roomy hold within ; 425 

No Lethean drug for Eastern lands, 

Nor poison-draught for ours ; 



I 



SONGS OF LABOR 51 

But honest fruits of toiling hands 
And Nature's sun and showers. 

Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, 430 

The Desert's golden sand, 
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,' 

The spice of Morning-land ! 
Her pathway on the open main 

May blessings follow free, 435 

And glad hearts welcome back again 

Her white sails from the sea ! 



THE DROVERS 

Through heat and cold, and shower and sun. 

Still onward cheerily driving! 
There 's life alone in duty done, 440 

And rest alone in striving. 
But see ! the day is closing cool. 

The woods are dim before us ; 
The white fog of the wayside pool 

Is creeping slowly o'er us. 445 

The night is falling, comrades mine. 

Our footsore beasts are weary, 
And through yon elms the tavern sign 

Looks out upon us cheery. 
The landlord beckons from his door, 450 

His beechen fire is glowing ; 
These ample barns, with feed in store. 

Are filled to overflowing. 

From many a valley frowned across 

By brows of rugged mountains ; 455 

From hillsides where, through spongy moss, 

Gush out the river fountains ; 
From quiet farm-fields, green and low, 

And bright with blooming clover ; 
From vales of corn the wandering crow 460 

No richer hovers over, — 



52 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Day after day our way has been 

O'er many a hill and hollow ; 
By lake and stream, by wood and glen. 

Our stately drove we follow. 465 

Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun 

As smoke of battle o'er us, 
Their white horns glisten in the sun, 

Like plumes and crests before us. 

We see them slowly climb the hill, 470 

As slow behind it sinking ; 
Or, thronging close, from roadside rill. 

Or sunny lakelet, drinking. 
Now crowding in the narrow road. 

In thick and struggling masses, 475 

They glare upon the teamster's load, 

Or rattling coach that passes. 

Anon, with toss of horn and tail. 

And paw of hoof, and bellow. 
They leap some farmer's broken pale, 480 

O'er meadow-close or fallow. 
Forth comes the startled goodman ; forth 

Wife, children, house-dog sally. 
Till once more on their dusty path 

The baffled truants rally. 485 

We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, 

Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony. 
Like those who grind their noses down 

On pastures bare and stony, — 
Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, 490 

And cows too lean for shadows, 
Disputing feebly with the frogs 

The crop of saw-grass meadows ! 

In our good drove, so sleek and fair, 
No bones of leanness rattle. 495 

No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, 
Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. 



SONGS OF LABOR 53 

Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand 

That fed him unrepining ; 
The fatness of a goodly land 500 

In each dun hide is shining. 

We Ve sought them where, in warmest nooks, 

The freshest feed is growing, 
By sweetest springs and clearest brooks 

Through honeysuckle flowing; 505 

Wherever hillsides, sloping south, 

Are bright with early grasses, 
Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth, 

The mountain streamlet passes. 

But now the day is closing cool, 510 

The woods are dim before us. 
The white fog of the wayside pool 

Is creeping slowly o'er us. 
The cricket to the frog's bassoon 

His shrillest time is keeping ; 515 

The sickle of yon setting moon 

The meadow- mist is reaping. 

The night is falling, comrades mine, 

Our footsore beasts are weary. 
And through yon elms the tavern sign 520 

Looks out upon us cheery. 
To-morrow, eastward with our charge 

We '11 go to meet the dawning. 
Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge 

Have seen the sun of morning. 525 

When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth. 

Instead of birds, are flitting ; 
When children throng the glowing hearth, 

And quiet wives are knitting ; 
While in the firelight strong and clear 530 

Young eyes of pleasure glisten, 
To tales of all we see and hear 

The ears of home shall listen. 



54 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

By many a Northern lake and hill, 

From many a mountain pasture, 535 

Shall fancy play the Drover still. 

And speed the long night faster. 
Then let us on, through shower and sun, 

And heat and cold, be driving ; 
There 's life alone in duty done, 540 

And rest alone in striving. 



THE HUSKERS 

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal 
rain 

Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with 
grass again ,* 

The first sharp frost had fallen, leaving all the wood- 
lands gay 

With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- 
flowers of May. 545 

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose 
broad and red. 

At first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped : 

Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and sub- 
dued, 

On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pic- 
tured wood. 

And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the 
night, 550 

He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light ; 

Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified 
the hill; 

And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, 
greener still. 

And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught 

glimpses of that sky. 
Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, 

they knew not why, 655 



SONGS OF LABOR 55 

And school-girls gay with aster-flowers, beside the 

meadow brooks, 
Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of 

sweet looks. 

From spire and barn looked westerly the patient 
weathercocks ; 

But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as 
rocks. 

No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's 
dropping shell, 560 

And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rus- 
tling as they fell. 

The summer grains were harvested; the stubble- 
fields lay dry, 

Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the 
pale green waves of rye ; 

But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with 
wood, 

Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn 
crop stood. 565 

Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks 

that, dry and sere. 
Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the 

yellow ear ; 
Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant 

fold. 
And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's 

sphere of gold. 

There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a 
creaking wain 570 

Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk 
and grain ; 

Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank 
down, at last, 

And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in bright- 
ness passed. 



56 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

And lo ! as through the western pines, on meadow, 
stream, and pond, 

Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire be- 
yond, 575 

Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, 

And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into 
one! 

As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away, 
And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil 

shadows lay ; 
From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet 

without name, 580 

Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry 

buskers came. 

Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks 

in the mow. 
Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene 

below ; 
The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears 

before. 
And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks 

glimmering o'er. 585 

Half -hidden, in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, 
Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart ; 
While up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in 

its shade. 
At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy 

children played. 

Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young 

and fair, 590 

Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft 

brown hair. 
The master of the village school, sleek of hair and 

smooth of tongue, 
To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking- 

ballad sung. 



SONGS OF LABOR 57 

THE CORN-SONG, 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! 

Heap high the golden corn ! 595 

No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn ! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean 

The apple from the pine. 
The orange from its glossy green, 600 

The cluster from the vine ; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow. 
To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest-fields with snow. 605 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers 

Our ploughs their furrows made. 
While on the hills the sun and showers 

Of changeful April played. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain 610 

Beneath the sun of May, 
And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 

All through the long, bright days of June 
Its leaves grew green and fair, 615 

And waved in hot midsummer's noon 
Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with Autumn's moonlit eyes, 

Its harvest-time has come. 
We pluck away the frosted leaves, 620 

And bear the treasure home. 

There, when the snows about us drift, 

And winter winds are cold, 
Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 

And knead its meal of gold. 625 



58 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Let vapid idlers loll in silk 

Around their costly board ; 
Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 

By homespun beauty poured ! 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 630 

Sends up its smoky curls, 
Who will not thank the kindly earth, 

And bless our farmer girls ! 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 
Whose folly laughs to scorn 635 

The blessing of our hardy grain. 
Our wealth of golden corn ! 

Let earth withhold her goodly root, 

Let mildew blight the rye, 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit 640 

The wheat-field to the fly : 

But let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; 
Still let us, for His golden corn. 

Send up our thanks to God ! 645 



THE BAREFOOT BO^ 

Blessings on thee, little man. 

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 

With thy turned-up pantaloons. 

And thy merry whistled tunes ; 

With thy red lip, redder still 5 

Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 

With the sunshine on thy face. 

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; 

From my heart I give thee joy, — 

I was once a barefoot boy ! 10 



THE BAREFOOT BOY 59 

Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 

Only is republican. 

Let the million-dollared ride ! 

Barefoot, trudging at his side. 

Thou hast more than he can buy 15 

In the reach of ear and eye, — 

Outward sunshine, inward joy: 

Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

Oh for boyhood's painless play, 

Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 20 

Health that mocks the doctor's rules. 

Knowledge never learned of schools, 

Of the wild bee's morning chase. 

Of the wild-flower's time and place. 

Flight of fowl and habitude 25 

Of the tenants of the wood ; 

How the tortoise bears his shell, 

How the woodchuck digs his cell. 

And the ground- mole sinks his well ; 

How the robin feeds her young, 30 

How the oriole's nest is hung ; 

Where the whitest lilies blow. 

Where the freshest berries grow, 

Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 

Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; 35 

Of the black wasp's cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray hornet artisans ! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 40 

Nature answers all he asks ; 

Hand in hand with her he walks. 

Face to face with her he talks. 

Part and parcel of her joy, — 

Blessings on the barefoot boy! 45 

Oh for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 



60 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

When all things I heard or saw. 

Me, their master, waited for. 

I was rich in flowers and trees, 50 

Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 

For my sport the squirrel played. 

Plied the snouted mole his spade ; 

For my taste the blackberry cone 

Purpled over hedge and stone ; 55 

Laughed the brook for my delight 

Through the day and through the night. 

Whispering at the garden wall. 

Talked with me from fall to fall ; 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 60 

Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 

Mine, on bending orchard trees. 

Apples of Hesperides ! 

Still as my horizon grew. 

Larger grew my riches too ; 65 

All the world I saw or knew 

Seemed a complex Chinese toy. 

Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

Oh for festal dainties spread. 

Like my bowl of milk and bread ; 70 

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood. 

On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 

O'er me, like a regal tent. 

Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 

Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 75 

Looped in many a wind-swung fold, 

While for music came the play 

Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 

And, to light the noisy choir, 

Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 80 

I was monarch : pomp and joy 

Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man. 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 



MY PLAYMATE 61 

Though the flinty slopes be hard, 85 

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 

Every morn shall lead thee through 

Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 

Every evening from thy feet 

Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 90 

All too soon these feet must hide 

In the prison cells of pride, 

Lose the freedom of the sod, 

Like a colt's for work be' shod. 

Made to tread the mills of toil, 95 

Up and down in ceaseless moil : 

Happy if their track be found 

Never on forbidden ground ; 

Happy if they sink not in 

Quick and treacherous sands of sin. lOp 

Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, 

Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 



MY PLAYMATE 

The pines were dark on Ramoth hill. 

Their song was soft and low ; 
The blossoms in the sweet May wind 

Were falling like the snow. 

The blossoms drifted at our feet, 5 

The orchard birds sang clear ; 
The sweetest and the saddest day 

It seemed of all the year. 

For, more to me than birds or flowers. 
My playmate left her home, 10 

And took with her the laughing spring, 
The music and the bloom. 

She kissed the lips of kith and kin. 

She laid her hand in mine : 
What more could ask the bashful boy 15 

Who fed her father's kine ? 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

She left us in the bloom of May : 

The constant years told o'er 
Their seasons with as sweet May morns, 

But she came back no more. 20 

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 

Of uneventful years ; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring 

And reap the autumn ears. 

She lives where all the golden year 25 

Her summer roses blow ; 
The dusky children of the sun 

Before her come and go. 

There haply with her jewelled hands 
She smoothes her silken gown, — 30 

No more the homespun lap wherein 
I shook the walnuts down. 

The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 

The brown nuts on the hill, 
And still the May-day flowers make sweet 35 

The woods of FoUymill. 

The lilies blossom in the pond. 

The bird builds in the tree. 
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill 

The slow song of the sea. 40 

I wonder if she thinks of them, 

And how the old time seems, — 
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are sounding in her dreams. 

I see her face, I hear her voice; 45 

Does she remember mine ? 
And what to her is now the boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 



TELLING THE BEES 63 

What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours, — 50 

That other hands with nuts are filled, 
And other laps with flowers ? 

O playmate in the golden time ! 

Our mossy seat is green, 
Its fringing violets blossom yet, 55 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

The winds so sweet with birch and fern 

A sweeter memory blow ; 
And there in spring the veeries sing 

The song of long ago. 60 

And still the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are moaning like the sea, — 
The moaning of the sea of cbange 

Between myself and thee ! 



TELLING THE BEES 

Here is the place ; right over the hill 

Runs the path I took ; 
You can see the gap in the old wall still, 

And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. 

There is the house, with the gate red-barred, 5 

And the poplars tall ; 
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle- yard. 

And the white horns tossing above the wall. 

There are the beehives ranged in the sun; 

And down by the brink 10 

Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed o'errun. 

Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. 

A year has gone, as the tortoise goes. 
Heavy and slow ; 



64 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, 15 
And the same brook sings of a year ago. 

There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze : 

And the June sun warm 
Tangles his wings of fire in the trees. 

Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. 20 

I mind me how with a lover's care 

From my Sunday coat 
I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, 

And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. 

Since we parted, a month had passed, — 25 

To love, a year ; 
Down through the beeches I looked at last 

On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. 

I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain 
Of light through the leaves, 30 

The sundown's blaze on her window-pane. 
The bloom of her roses under the eaves. 

Just the same as a month before, — 

The house and the trees. 
The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — 35 

Nothing changed but the hive of bees. 

Before them, under the garden wall, 

Forward and back, 
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small. 

Draping each hive with a shred of black. 40 

Trembling, I listened : the summer sun 

Had the chill of snow ; 
For I knew she was telhng the bees of one 

Gone on the journey we all must go ! 

Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps 45 

For the dead to-day : 



THE POET AND THE CHILDREN 65 

Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps 
The fret and the pain of his age away." 

But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, 
With his cane to his chin, 50 

The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still 
Sung to the bees stealing out and in. 

And the song she was singing ever since 
In my ear sounds on : — 
*' Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! 55 

Mistress Mary is dead and gone ! " 



THE POET AND THE CHILDREN 
LONGFELLOW 

With a glory of winter sunshine 

Over his locks of gray. 
In the cftd historic mansion 

He sat on his last birthday; 

With his books and his pleasant pictures, 5 

And his household and his kin, 
While a sound as of myriads singing 

From far and near stole in. 

It came from his own fair city, 

From the prairie's boundless plain, 10 

From the Golden Gate of sunset, 

And the cedarn woods of Maine. 

And his heart grew warm within him. 
And his moistening eyes grew dim. 

For he knew that his country's children 15 
Were singing the songs of him: 

The lays of his life's glad morning, 

The psalms of his evening time. 
Whose echoes shall float forever 

On the winds of every clime. 20 



66 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

All their beautiful consolations, 
Sent forth like birds of cheer, 

Came flocking back to his windows, 
And sang in the Poet's ear. 



1 



Grateful, but solemn and tender, 25 

The music rose and fell 
With a joy akin to sadness 

And a greeting like farewell. 

With a sense of awe he listened 

To the voices sweet and young ; 30 

The last of earth and the first of heaven 

Seemed in the songs they sung. 

And waiting a little longer 

For the wonderful change to come, 

He heard the Summoning Angel, 35 

Who calls God's children home ! 

And to him in a holier welcome 

Was the mystical meaning given 
Of the words of the blessed Master : 

" Of such is the kingdom of heaven ! " 40 



BURNS 
ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM 

No more these simple flowers belong 

To Scottish maid and lover ; 
Sown in the common soil of song. 

They bloom the wide world over. 

In smiles and tears, in sun a^d showers, 5 

The minstrel and the heather. 
The deathless singer and the flowers 

He sang of live together. 



BURNS 67 

Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns ! 

The moorland flower and peasant ! lo 

How, at their mention, memory turns 

Her pages old and pleasant ! 

The gray sky wears again its gold 

And purple of adorning. 
And manhood's noonday shadows hold 15 

The dews of boyhood's morning. 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 

From off the wings of pleasure. 
The sky, that flecked the ground of toil 

With golden threads of leisure. 20 

I call to mind the summer day, 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and clouds at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in the corn, 25 

The locust in the haying ; 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn. 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 
I sought the maple's shadow, 30 

And sang with Burns the hours away. 
Forgetful of the meadow ! 

Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead 

I heard the squirrels leaping. 
The good dog listened while I read, 35 

And wagged his tail in keeping. 

I watched him while in sportive mood 

I read " The Twa Dogs' " story. 
And half believed he understood 

The poet's allegory. 40 



68 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! The golden hours 
Grew brighter for that singing, 

From brook and bird and meadow flowers 
A dearer welcome bringing. 

New light on home-seen Nature beamed, 45 

New glory over Woman ; 
And daily life and duty seemed 

No longer poor and common. 

I woke to find the simple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 50 

Than all the dreams that held my youth 

A still repining debtor : 

That Nature gives her handmaid, Art, 
The themes of sweet discoursing ; 

The tender idyls of the heart 55 

In every tongue rehearsing. 

"Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, 

Of loving knight and lady, 
When farmer boy and barefoot girl 

Were wandering there already ? 60 

I saw through all familiar things 

The romance underlying ; 
The joys and griefs that plume. the wings 

Of Fancy skyward flying. 

I saw the same blithe day return, 65 

The same sweet fall of even. 
That rose on wooded Craigie-burn, 

And sank on crystal Devon. 

I matched with Scotland's heathery hills 
The sweetbrier and the clover ; 70 

With Ayr and Doon, my native rills, 
Their wood hymns chanting over. 



BURNS 69 

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 

I saw the Man uprising ; 
No longer common or unclean, 75 

The child of God's baptizing ! 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lowly ; 
The Bible at his Cotter's hearth 

Had made my own more holy. 80 

And if at times an evil strain, 

To lawless love appealing, 
Broke in upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling, 

It died upon the eye and ear, 85 

No inward answer gaining ; 
No heart had I to see or hear 

The discord and the staining. 

Let those who never erred forget 

His worth, in vain bewailings ; 90 

Sweet Soul of Song ! I own my debt 

Uncancelled by his failings ! 

Lament who will the ribald line 

Which tells his lapse from duty. 
How kissed the maddening lips of wine 95 

Or wanton ones of beauty ; 

But think, while falls that shade between 

The erring one and Heaven, 
That he who loved like Magdalen, 

Like her may be forgiven. 100 

Not his the song whose thunderous chime 

Eternal echoes render ; 
The mournful Tuscan's haunted rhyme, 

And Milton's starry splendor ! 



70 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

But who his human heart has laid 105 

To Nature's bosom nearer ? 
Who sweetened toil like him, or paid 

To love a tribute dearer ? 

Through all his tuneful art, how strong 
The human feeling gushes ! 110 

The very moonlight of his song 
Is warm with smiles and blushes ! 

Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, 

So " Bonnie Doon " but tarry ; 
Blot out the Epic's stately rhyme, 115 

But spare his Highland Mary ! 



ABRAHAM DAVENPORT 

In the old days (a custom laid aside 

With breeches and cocked hats) the people sent 

Their wisest men to make the public laws. 

And so, from a brown homestead, where the Sound 

Drinks the small tribute of the Mianas, 5 

Waved over by the woods of Rippowams, 

And hallowed by pure lives and tranquil deaths, 

Stamford sent up to the councils of the State 

Wisdona and grace in Abraham Davenport. 

'T was on a May-day of the far old year 10 

Seventeen hundred eighty, that there fell 
Over the bloom and sweet life of the Spring, 
Over the fresh earth and the heaven of noon, 
A horror of great darkness, like the night 
In day of which the Norland sagas tell, — 15 

The Twilight of the Gods. The low-hung sky 
Was black with ominous clouds, save where its rim 
Was fringed with a dull glow, like that which climbs 
The crater's sides from the red hell below. 
Birds ceased to sing, and all the barn-yard fowls 20 



ABRAHAM DAVENPORT 71 

Roosted ; the cattle at the pasture bars 

Lowed, and looked homeward ; bats on leathern wings 

Flitted abroad ; the sounds of labor died ; 

Men prayed, and women wept ; all ears grew sharp 

To hear the doom-blast of the trumpet shatter 25 

The black sky, that the dreadful face of Christ 

Might look from the rent clouds, not as he looked 

A loving guest at Bethany, but stern 

As Justice and inexorable Law. 

Meanwhile in the old State House, dim as ghosts, 30 
Sat the lawgivers of Connecticut, 
Trembling beneath their legislative robes. 
" It is the Lord's Great Day ! Let us adjourn," 
Some said ; and then, as if with one accord, 
All eyes were turned to Abraham Davenport. 35 

He rose, slow cleaving with his steady voice 
The intolerable hush. " This well may be 
The Day of Judgment which the world awaits ; 
But be it so or not, I only know 
My present duty, and my Lord's command 40 

To occupy till He come. So at the post 
Where He hath set me in His providence, 
I choose, for one, to meet Him face to face, — 
No faithless servant frightened from my task, 
But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls ; 45 
And therefore, with all reverence, I would say. 
Let God do His work, we will see to ours. 
Bring in the candles." And they brought them in. 

Then by the flaring lights the Speaker read. 
Albeit with husky voice and shaking hands, 50 

An act to amend an act to regulate 
The shad and alewive fisheries. Whereupon 
Wisely and well spake Abraham Davenport, 
Straight to the question, with no figures of speech 
Save the ten Arab signs, yet not without 55 

The shrewd dry humor natural to the man : 
His awe-struck colleagues listening all the while, 
Between the pauses of his argument. 



72 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

To hear the thunder of the wrath of God 
Break from the hollow trumpet of the cloud. 60 

And there he stands in memory to this day, 
Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen 
Against the background of unnatural dark, 
A witness to the ages as they pass, 
That simple duty hath no place for fear. 65 



THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY 

The proudest now is but my peer. 

The highest not more high ; 
To-day, of all the weary year, 

A king of men am I. 
To-day alike are great and small, 5 

The nameless and the known ; 
My palace is the people's hall, 

The ballot-box my throne ! 

Who serves to-day upon the list 

Beside the served shall stand ; 10 

Alike the brown and wrinkled fist. 

The gloved and dainty hand ! 
The rich is level with the poor. 

The weak is strong to-day ; 
And sleekest broadcloth counts no more 15 

Than homespun frock of gray. 

To-day let pomp and vain pretence 

My stubborn right abide ; 
I set a plain man's common sense 

Against the pedant's pride. 20 

To-day shall simple manhood try 

The strength of gold and land ; 
The wide world has not wealth to buy 

The power in my right hand ! 

While there 's a grief to seek redress, 25 

Or balance to adjust. 



THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS 73 

Where weighs our living manhood less 

Than Mammon's vilest dust, — 
While there 's a right to need my vote, 

A wrong to sweep away, 30 

Up ! clouted knee and ragged coat ! 

A man 's a man to-day ! 



THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS 

Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day. 

While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray 

Alone with God, as was his pious choice, 

Heard from without a miserable voice, 

A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell, 5 

As of a lost soul crying out of hell. 

Thereat the Abbot paused ; the chain whereby 
His thoughts went upward broken by that cry ; 
And, looking from the casement, saw below 
A wretched woman, with gray hair a-flow, 10 

And withered hands held up to him, who cried 
For alms as one who might not be denied. 

She cried, " For the dear love of Him who gave 
His life for ours, my child from bondage save, — 
My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves 15 
In the Moor's gaUey, where the sun-smit waves 
Lap the white walls of Tunis ! " — " What I can 

I give," Tritemius said, " my prayers." — " O man 
Of God ! " she cried, for grief had made her bold, 
" Mock me not thus ; I ask not prayers, but gold. 20 
Words will not serve me, alms alone suffice ; 
Even while I speak perchance my first-born dies." 

" Woman ! " Tritemius answered, " from our door 
None go unfed, hence are we always poor ; 
A single soldo is our only store. 25 

Thou hast our prayers; — what can we give thee 
more ? " 



74 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

" Give me," she said, " the silver candlesticks 
On either side of the great crucifix. 
God well may spare them on His errands sped, 
Or He can give you golden ones instead." 30 

Then spake Tritemius, " Even as thy word, 

Woman, so be it ! (Our most gracious Lord, 

Who loveth mercy more than sacrifice, 

Pardon me if a human soul I prize 

Above the gifts upon his altar piled !) 35 

Take what thou askest, and redeem thy child." 

But his hand trembled as the holy alms 
He placed within the beggar's eager palms ; 
And as she vanished down the linden shade. 
He bowed his head and for forgiveness prayed. 40 

So the day passed, and when the twilight came 
He woke to find the chapel all aflame, 
And, dumb with grateful wonder, to behold 
Upon the altar candlesticks of gold! 



KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS 

Out from Jerusalem 

The king rode with his great 

War chiefs and lords of state, 
And Sheba's queen with them ; 

Comely, but black withal, 6 

To whom, perchance, belongs 

That wondrous Song of songs, 
Sensuous and mystical, 

Whereto devout souls turn 

In fond, ecstatic dream, 10 

And through its earth-born theme 

The Love of loves discern. 



KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS 75 

Proud in the Syrian sun, 

In gold and purple sheen, 

The dusky Ethiop queen 15 

Smiled on King Solomon. 

Wisest of men, he knew 

The languages of all 

The creatures great or small 
That trod the earth or flew. 20 

Across an ant-hill led 

The king's path, and he heard 
Its small folk, and their word 

He thus interpreted: 

" Here comes the king men greet 25 

As wise and good and just. 
To crush us in the dust 
Under his heedless feet." 

The great king bowed his head. 
And saw the wide surprise 30 

Of the Queen of Sheba's eyes 

As he told her what they said. 

" O king ! " she whispered sweet, 
" Too happy fate have they 
Who perish in thy way 35 

Beneath thy gracious feet ! 

" Thou of the God-lent crown. 
Shall these vile creatures dare 
Murmur against thee where 
The knees of kings kneel down?" 40 

" Nay," Solomon replied, 

" The wise and strong should seek 
The welfare of the weak," 
And turned his horse aside. 



76 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

His train, with quick alarm, 45 

Curved with their leader round 
The ant-hill's peopled mound. 

And left it free from harm. 

The jewelled head bent low ,* 

" O king ! " she said, " henceforth 50 

The secret of thy worth 
And wisdom well I know. 

" Happy must be the State 
Whose ruler heedeth more 
The murmurs of the poor 55 

Than flatteries of the great." 



HOW THE ROBIN CAME 

AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND 

Happy young friends, sit by me 

Under Maj^'s blown apple-tree. 

While these home-birds in and out 

Through the blossoms flit about. 

Hear a story, strange and old, 5 

By the wild red Indians told. 

How the robin came to be; 

Once a great chief left his son, — 

Well-beloved, his only one, — 

When the boy was well-nigh grown, 10 

In the trial-lodge alone. 

Left for tortures long and slow 

Youths like him must undergo, 

Who their pride of manhood test, 

Lacking water, food, and rest. 15 

Seven days the fast he kept. 

Seven nights he never slept. 

Then the young boy, wrung with pain, 

Weak from nature's overstrain, 



HOW THE ROBIN CAME 77 

Faltering, moaned a low complaint : 20 

" Spare me, father, for I faint ! " 

But the chieftain, haughty- eyed, 

Hid his pity in his pride. 
" You shall be a hunter good. 

Knowing never lack of food : 25 

You shall be a warrior great. 

Wise as fox and strong as bear ; 

Many scalps your belt shall wear, 

If with patient heart you wait 

Bravely till your task is done. 30 

Better you should starving die 

Than that boy and squaw should cry 

Shame upon your father's son ! " 

When next morn the sun's first rays 

Glistened on the hemlock sprays, 35 

Straight that lodge the old chief sought. 

And boiled samp and moose meat brought. 
" Rise and eat, my son ! " he said. 

Lo, he found the poor boy dead ! 

As with ^rief his grave they made, . 40 

And his bow beside him laid. 

Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid, 

On the lodge-top overhead, 

Preening smooth its breast of red 

And the brown coat that it wore, 45 

Sat a bird, unknown before. 

And as if with human tongue, 
" Mourn me not," it said, or sung : 
" I, a bird, am still your son. 

Happier than if hunter fleet, 50 

Or a brave, before your feet 

Laying scalps in battle won. 

Friend of man, my song shall cheer 

Lodge and corn-land ; hovering near. 

To each wigwam I shall bring 55 

Tidings of the coming spring ; 

Every child my voice shall know 

In the moon of melting snow. 



78 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

When the maple's red bud swells, 

And the wind-flower lifts its bells. 60 

As their fond companion 

Men shall henceforth own your son, 

And my song shall testify 

That of human kin am I." 

Thus the Indian legend saith 65 

How, at first, the robin came 

With a sweeter life and death. 

Bird for boy, and still the same. 

If my young friends doubt that this 

Is the robin's genesis, 70 

Not in vain is still the myth 

If a truth be found therewith : 

Unto gentleness belong 

Gifts unknown to pride and wrong 

Happier far than hate is praise, — 75 

He who sings than he who slays. 



APRIL 

' The spring comes slowly up this way.* 



Christabel. 



'T IS the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird 
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard ; 
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow. 
And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow ; 
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, 5 
On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, 
O'er the cold winter-beds of their late- waking roots 
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots ; 
And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps. 
Round the boles of the pine- wood the ground-laurel 

creeps, 10 

Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, 
With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into 

flowers ! 



THE MAYFLOWERS 79 

We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south ! 
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy 

mouth ; 
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, 15 
Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod ! 
Up our long river- valley, for days, have not ceased 
The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, 
Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow. 
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, 20 
Until all our dreams of the land of the blest. 
Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. 
O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, 
Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death; 
Renew the great miracle ; let us behold 25 

The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, 
And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old I 
Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, 
Revive with the warmth and the brightness again. 
And in blooming of flower and budding of tree 30 
The symbols and types of our destiny see ,• 
The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole. 
And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul ! 



THE MAYFLOWERS 

Sad Mayflower ! watched by winter stars, 

And nursed by winter gales. 
With petals of the sleeted spars. 

And leaves of frozen sails ! 

What had she in those dreary hours, 5 

Within her ice-rimmed bay, 
In common with the wild- wood flowers. 

The first sweet smiles of May ? 

Yet, " God be praised ! " the Pilgrim said. 
Who saw the blossoms peer 10 

Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, 
" Behold our Mayflower here ! " 



80 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

" God wills it : here our rest shall be, 
Our years of wandering o'er ; 
For us the Mayflower of the sea 15 

Shall spread her sails no more." 

O sacred flowers of faith and hope, 

As sweetly now as then 
Ye bloom on many a birchen slope. 

In many a pine-dark glen. 20 

Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, 
Unchanged, your leaves unfold, 

Like love behind the manly strength 
Of the brave hearts of old. 

So live the fathers in their sons, 25 

Their sturdy faith be ours. 
And ours the love that overruns 

Its rocky strength with flowers. 

The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day 

Its shadow round us draws ; 30 

The Mayflower of his stormy bay. 
Our Freedom's struggling cause. 

But warmer suns erelong shall bring 

To life the frozen sod ; 
And through dead leaves of hope shall spring 35 

Afresh the flowers of God ! 



FOR AN AUTUMN FESTIVAL 

The Persian's flowery gifts the shrine 
Of fruitful Ceres charm no more ; 

The woven wreaths of oak and pine 
Are dust along the Isthmian shore. 

But beauty hath its homage still, 
And nature holds us still in debt; 

And woman's grace and household skill. 
And manhood's toil, are honored yet. 



FOR AN AUTUMN FESTIVAL 81 

And we, to-day, amidst our flowers 

And fruits, have come to own again lo 

The blessings of the summer hours, 
The early and the latter rain ; 

To see our Father's hand once more 
Reverse for us the plenteous horn 

Of autumn, filled and running o'er 15 

With fruit, and flower, and golden corn ! 

Once more the liberal year laughs out 
O'er richer stores than gems or gold ; 

Once more with harvest-song and shout 
Is Nature's bloodless triumph told. 20 

Our common mother rests and sings. 
Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves ; 

Her lap is full of goodly things, 
Her brow is bright with autumn leaves. 

Oh, favors every year made new ! 25 

Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent ! 

The bounty overruns our due. 
The fulness shames our discontent. 

We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on ; 

We murmur, but the corn- ears flU, 30 

We choose the shadow, but the sun 

That casts it shines behind us still. 

God gives us with our rugged soil 

The power to make it Eden-fair, 
And richer fruits to crown our toil 35 

Than summer- wedded islands bear. 

Who murmurs at his lot to-day? 

Who scorns his native fruit and bloom ? 
Or sighs for dainties far away. 

Beside the bounteous board of home ? 40 



82 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm 
Can change a rocky soil to gold, — 

That brave and generous lives can warm 
A clime with northern ices cold. 



And let these altars, wreathed with flowers 45 
And piled with fruits, awake again 

Thanksgivings for the golden hours, 
The early and the latter rain ! 



THE FROST SPIRIT 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes! 

You may trace his foot-steps now 
On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the 

brown hill's withered brow. 
He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where 

their pleasant green came forth, 
And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have 

shaken them down to earth. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! from 

the frozen Labrador, 5 

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the 

white bear wanders o'er. 
Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the 

luckless forms below 
In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble 

statues grow ! 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! on 

the rushing Northern blast. 
And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his 

fearful breath went past. 10 

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where 

the fires of Hecla glow 
On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice 

below. 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 83 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! and 
the quiet lake shall feel 

The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the 
skater's heel ; 

And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, 
or sang to the leaning grass, 15 

Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mourn- 
ful silence pass. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! Let 
us meet him as we may. 

And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil 
power away ; 

And gather closer the circle round, when that fire- 
light dances high, 

And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his 
sounding wing goes by ! 20 

THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 

I 
O'ek the bare woods, whose outstretched hands 

Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, 
I see, beyond the valley lands. 

The sea's long level dim with rain. 
Around me all things, stark and dumb, 5 

Seem praying for the snows to come, 
And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone. 
With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. 

II 
Along the river's summer walk. 

The withered tufts of asters nod ; 10 

And trembles on its arid stalk 

The hoar plume of the golden-rod. 
And on a ground of sombre fir, 
And azure-studded juniper, 
The silver birch its buds of purple shows, 15 

And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild- 
rose! 



84 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

III 
With mingled sound of horns and bells, 
A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, 
Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells. 

Like a great arrow through the sky, 20 

Two dusky lines converged in one, 
Chasing the southward-flying sun ; 
While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay 
Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. 

IV 

I passed this way a year ago : 25 

The wind blew south ; the noon of day 
Was warm as June's ; and save that snow 

Flecked the low mountains far away, 
And that the vernal-seeming breeze 
Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, 30 

I might have dreamed of summer as I lay. 
Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. 



Since then, the winter blasts have piled 

The white pagodas of the snow 
On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, 35 

Yon river, in its overflow 
Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, 
Crashed with its ices to the sea ; 
And over these gray fields, then green and gold, 
The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ 
rolled. 40 

VI 

Rich gift of God ! A year of time ! 

What pomp of rise and shut of day. 
What hues wherewith our Northern clime 

Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, 
What airs outblown from ferny dells, 45 

And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells. 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 85 

What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and 

flowers. 
Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round 

been ours ! 

VII 

I know not how, in other lands. 

The changing seasons come and go; 50 

What splendors fall on Syrian sands, 

What purple lights on Alpine snow! 
Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits 
On Venice at her watery gates ; 
A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, 55 

And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. 



VIII 

Yet, on life's current, he who drifts 

Is one with him who rows or sails ; 
And he who wanders widest lifts 

No more of beauty's jealous veils 60 

Than he who from his doorway sees 
The miracle uf flowers and trees. 
Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, 
And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to 
prayer! 

IX 

The eye may well be glad that looks 65 

Where Pharpar's fountains rise and fall ; 
But he who sees his native brooks 

Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. 
The marble palaces of Ind 

Rise round him in the snow and wind ; 70 

From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz smiles. 
And Rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. ' 



And thus it is my fancy blends 
The near at hand and far and rare ; 



86 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

And while the same horizon bends 

Above the silver-sprinkled hair 
Which flashed the light of morning skies 
On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, 
Within its round of sea and sky and field, 
Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos stands 
revealed. 80 

XI 

And thus the sick man on his bed, 

The toiler to his task- work bound, 
Behold their prison- walls outspread. 

Their clipped horizon widen round ! 
While freedom-giving fancy waits, 85 

Like Peter's angel at the gates, 
The power is theirs to baffle care and pain, 
To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs 



agam 



xn 
What lack of goodly company. 

When masters of the ancient lyre 90 

Obey my call, and trace for me 

Their words of mingled tears and fire ! 
I talk with Bacon, grave and wise, 
I read the world with Pascal's eyes ; 
And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, 95 
And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw 
near. 

XIII 

Methinks, O friend, I hear thee say, 

" In vain the human heart we mock ; 
Bring living guests who love the day, 

Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock ! 100 

The herbs we share with flesh and blood 
Are better than ambrosial food 
With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, 
But doubly blest is he who can partake of both. 



THE LAST WALK D^ AUTUMN 87 



XIV 

He who might Plato's banquet grace, 105 

Have I not seen before me sit, 
And watched his puritanic face, 

With more than Eastern wisdom Ut ? 
Shrewd mystic ! who upon the back 
Of his Poor Richard's Almanac 110 

Writing the Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, 
Links Manu's age of thought to Fulton's age of steam ! 

XV 

Here too, of answering love secure. 

Have I not welcomed to my hearth 
The gentle pilgrim troubadour, 115 

Whose songs have girdled half the earth ; 
Whose pages, like the magic mat 
Whereon the Eastern lover sat. 
Have borne me over Rhine-land's purple vines, 
And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's mountain 
pines ! 120 

XVI 

And he, who to the lettered wealth 

Of ages adds the lore unpriced. 
The wisdom and the moral health. 

The ethics of the school of Christ ; 
The statesman to his holy trust, 125 

As the Athenian archon, just. 
Struck down, exiled like him for truth alone. 
Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own ? 

XVII 

What greetings smile, what farewells wave. 

What loved ones enter and depart ! 130 

The good, the beautiful, the brave, 

The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart ! 

How conscious seems the frozen sod 

And beechen slope whereon they trod ! 



88 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends 135 
Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. 

XVIII 

Then ask not why to these bleak hills 

I cling, as clings the tufted moss, 
To bear the winter's lingering chills, 

The mocking spring's perpetual loss. 140 

I dream of lands where summer smiles, 
And soft winds blow from spicy isles. 
But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet. 
Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet ! 

XIX 

At times I long for gentler skies, 145 

And bathe in dreams of softer air, 
But homesick tears would fill the eyes 

That saw the Cross without the Bear. 
The pine must whisper to the palm. 
The north-wind break the tropic calm ; 150 

And with the dreamy languor of the Line, 
The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty 
join. 

XX 

Better to stem with heart and hand 
The roaring tide of life, than lie, 
Unmindful, on its flowery strand, 155 

Of God's occasions drifting by ! 
Better with naked nerve to bear 
The needles of this goading air. 
Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego 
The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know. 160 

XXI 

Home of my heart, to me more fair 

Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, 

The painted, shingly town-house where 
The freeman's vote for Freedom falls I 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 89 

The simple roof where prayer is made, 165 

The Gothic groin and colonnade ; 
The living temple of the heart of man, 
Than Rome's sky-mocking vault, or many-spired 
Milan ! 

XXII 

More dear thy equal village schools, 

Where rich and poor the Bible read, 170 

Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, 

And Learning wears the chains of Creed ; 
Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in 
The scattered sheaves of home and kin, 
Than the mad license ushering Lenten pains, 175 

Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. 

XXIII 

And sweet homes nestle in these dales, 

And perch along these wooded swells ; 
And, blest beyond Arcadian vales. 

They hear the sound of Sabbath bells ! 180 

Here dwells no perfect man sublime. 
Nor woman winged before her time. 
But with the faults and follies of the race. 
Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. 

XXIV 

Here manhood struggles for the sake 185 

Of mother, sister, daughter, wife. 
The graces and the loves which make 

The music of the march of life ; 
And woman, in her daily round * 

Of duty, walks on holy ground. 190 

No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here 
Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. 

XXV 

Then let the icy north- wind blow 
The trumpets of the coming storm, 



90 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

To arrowy sleet and blinding snow 195 

Yon slanting lines of rain transform. 

Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, 

As gayly as I did of old ; 
And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, 
Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. 200 

XXVI 

And I will trust that He who heeds 

The life that hides in mead and wold, 
Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads. 

And stains these mosses green and gold, 
Will still, as He hath done, incline 205 

His gracious care to me and mine ; 
Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar. 
And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every 
star! 

XXVII 

I have not seen, I may not see. 

My hopes for man take form in fact, 210 

But God will give the victory 

In due time ; in that faith I act. 
And he who sees the future sure. 
The baffling present may endure, 214 

And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads 
The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. 

XXVIII 

And thou, my song, I send thee forth, 

Where harsher songs of mine have flown ; 
Go, find a place at home and hearth 

Where'er thy singer's name is known ; 220 

Revive for him the kindly thought 
Of friends ; and they who love him not. 
Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may 

take 
The hand he proffers all, and thank him for thy 



THE ETERNAL GOODNESS 91 



THE ETERNAL GOODNESS 

FEiENDS ! with whom my feet have trod 
The quiet aisles of prayer, 

Glad witness to your zeal for God 
And love of man I bear. 

1 trace your lines of argument ; 5 
Your logic linked and strong 

I weigh as one who dreads dissent, 
And fears a doubt as wrong. 

But still my human hands are weak 
To hold your iron creeds : 10 

Against the words ye bid me speak 
My heart within me pleads. 

Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? 

Who talks of scheme and plan ? 
The Lord is God ! He needeth not 15 

The poor device of man. 

I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground 

Ye tread with boldness shod ; 
I dare not fix with mete and bound 

The love and power of God. 20 

Ye praise His justice ; even such 

His pitying love I deem : 
Ye seek a king ; I fain would touch 

The robe that hath no seam. 

Ye see the curse which overbroods 25 

A world of pain and loss ; 
I hear our Lord's beatitudes 

And prayer upon the cross. 



92 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

More than your schoolmen teach, within 
Myself, alas ! I know : 30 

Too dark ye cannot paint the sin. 
Too small the merit show. 

I bow my forehead to the dust, 

I veil mine eyes for shame. 
And urge, in trembling self-distrust, 35 

A prayer without a claim. 

I see the wrong that round me lies, 

I feel the guilt within ; 
I hear, with groan and travail-cries, 

The world confess its sin. 40 

Yet, in the maddening maze of things, 

And tossed by storm and flood. 
To one fixed trust my spirit clings ; 

I know that God is good ! 

Not mine to look where cherubim 45 

And seraphs may not see. 
But nothing can be good in Him 

Which evil is in me. 

The wrong that pains my soul below 

I dare not throne above, 50 

I know not of His hate, — I know 
His goodness and His love. 

I dimly guess from blessings known 

Of greater out of sight. 
And, with the chastened Psalmist, own 55 

His judgments too are right. 

I long for household voices gone. 

For vanished smiles I long. 
But God hath led my dear ones on, 

And He can do no wrong. 60 



THE ETERNAL GOODNESS 93 

I know not what the future hath 

Of marvel or surprise, 
Assured alone that life and death 

His mercy underlies. 

And if my heart and flesh are weak 65 

To bear an untried pain, 
The bruised reed He will not break, 

But strengthen and sustain. 

No offering of my own I have. 

Nor works my faith to prove ; 70 

I can but give the gifts He gave. 

And plead His love for love. 

And so beside the Silent Sea 

I wait the muffled oar ; 
No harm from Him can come to me 75 

On ocean or on shore. 

I know not where His islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air ; 
I only know I cannot drift 

Beyond His love and care. 80 

O brothers ! if my faith is vain. 

If hopes like these betray. 
Pray for me that my feet may gain 

The sure and safer way. 

And Thou, O Lord ! by whom are seen 85 

Thy creatures as they be. 
Forgive me if too close I lean 

My human heart on Thee ! 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

PROEM 

(Written in 1847 to introduce the first general collection of Whittier's Poema.) 

3. Edmund Spenser (1552(?)-1599). One of the earliest of 
the great English poets, and a friend of Sidney's. Author of The 
Shepherd^s Calendar, The Faerie Queene, etc. 

4. Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586). An English poet and ro- 
mancist. Author of Arcadia, Astrophel and Stella, etc. 

32. John Milton (1608-1674). One of the greatest English 
poets. Author of Paradise Lost. 

33. Andrew Marvell (1621-1678). An English poet and 
satirist. His Thoughts in a Garden are regarded as particularly 
graceful poetry. 

SNOW-BOUND 

Whittier's own Introduction to Snow-Bound. "The inmates 
of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to in 
the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, 
and my uncle and aunt, both unmarried. In addition, there was 
the district school master, who boarded with us. The 'not un- 
f eared, haK-welcome guest' was Harriet Livermore, daughter 
of Judge Livermore, of New Hampshire, a young woman of fine 
natural ability, enthusiastic, eccentric, with slight control over 
her violent temper, which sometimes made her religious profes- 
sion doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort in school-house 
prayer-meetings and dance in a Washington ballroom, while her 
father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the doc- 
trine of the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the 
Lord's speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlan- 
tic and spent the greater part of a long life in travelling over 
Europe and Asia. She lived some time with Lady Hester Stan- 
hope, a woman as fantastic and mentally strained as herself, on 
the slope of Mt. Lebanon, but finally quarrelled with her in 
regard to two white horses with red marks on their backs which 
suggested the idea of saddles, on which her titled hostess ex- 
pected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A friend of mine 
found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in Syria with a 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 95 

tribe of Arabs, who, with the Oriental notion that madness is 
inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and leader. At the 
time referred to in Snow- Bound she was boarding at the Rocks 
Village, about two miles from us. 

" In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty 
sources of information; few books and only a small weekly news- 
paper. Our only annual was the almanac. Under such circmn- 
stances story-telling was a necessary resource in the long winter 
evenings. My father when a young man had traversed the wil- 
derness to Canada, and could tell us of his adventures with 
Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the French vil- 
lages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fish- 
ing, and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half 
believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was 
born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hamp- 
shire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of 
the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She de- 
scribed strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, 
among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession 
the wizard's 'conjuring book,' which he solemnly opened when 
consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic, printed in 
1651, dedicated to Doctor Robert Child, who, Uke Michael Scott, 
had learned 

* the art of glammorie 
In Padua beyond the sea,' 

and who is famous in the annals of Massachusetts, where he was 
at one time a resident, as the first man who dared petition the 
General Court for liberty of conscience. The full title of the 
book is Three Books of Occult Philosophy: hy Henry Cornelius 
Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both Laws. Counsellor to Ccesar's 
Sacred Majesty and Judge of the Prerogative Court." 

The Meter of Snow-Bound. Snow-Bound is written in tetram- 
eter, that is, with four divisions or measures in each line. Each 
of these measures, called a foot, is composed of two syllables, 
the first short or unaccented, the second, long or accented. Such 
a poetic foot is called an iambus. The meter of Snow-Bound, 
therefore, is iambic tetrameter. The first lines of the poem are 
scanned as follows : — 

The stin | that brifif | Dec6m | ber ddy 
Rose ch6er | less 6 | ver hills | of grdy, 
And d^rk | ly cir ] cled gdve | at no6n 
A add I der light | than wd | ning mo6n. | 



96 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

Notes and Questions. 16. Point out the words in this first 
paragraph that help most to give an impression of cheerlessness 

— of cold. 

29-30. To what mediaeval character is the cock compared in 
these hnes? 

31-40. What words in this passage make the description of 
the snow-storm most vivid — most weird? Where do we get an 
impression of spirits, of mad reveling of ghosts? In lines 34-36, 
point out the words that describe the various movements of the 
snow. 

41-65. Write a hundred- word description of the scene por- 
trayed in these lines. 
. 63. Point out the well-sweep in the picture opposite page 3. 

65. of Pisa's leaning miracle. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, 
in Italy, which inclines from the perpendicular a Httle more than 
six feet in eighty, is a campanile, or bell-tower, built of white 
marble, very beautiful, but so famous for its singular deflection 
from perpendicularity as to be known almost wholly as a curios- 
ity. 

65. Does this description of the appearance of the world agree 
with anything you have ever seen? 

77. rare Aladdin's wondrous cave. For the story of Aladdin 
and his lamp see any edition of The Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
ments, or R.L.S., No. 117. 

90. Amun, or Ammon, was an Egyptian being, representing 
an attribute of Deity under the form of a ram. 

93-115. From what words in this paragraph do we again get a 
feeling of the supernatural — of the hostile influences of nature 

— of solitude — of a love of nature. Compare with this descrip- 
tion of the buried brooklet, Lowell's description of the little ice- 
bound brook in The Vision of Sir Launfal, R.L.S. No. 30. 

116-142. Reproduce in a few words the description of the 
building of the fire. Point out in the picture opposite page 8 the 
crane, trammels, andirons. Explain their uses. 

143-154. What sort of feeling does the paragraph give the 
reader? Explain the contrast between this paragraph and the 
following lines (155-174). What words or expressions do most 
to describe the loneliness and cold without — the cheer and 
warmth within? 

156. What does clean-winged mean? What sort of wing was 
often used in country homes to sweep up the hearth? 

175-211. What is the general subject of this paragraph? 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 97 

How many of Whittier's family were living when he wrote this 
poem? 

204. With what experiences in life are cypress trees associ- 
ated? Where are they frequently planted? 

215. Gambia is a British colony in western Africa inhabited 
chiefly by negroes. 

This hne and lines 220-223 are taken from The African Chief, 
a poem by Mrs, Sarah Wentworth Morton (1759-1846). This 
poem was included in The American Preceptor, a schoolbook 
which was in use in Whittier's boyhood. 

217. What experience in our country's history is here referred 
to? 

219. Dame Mercy Warren, a writer of poems, was the wife of 
James Warren, one of the American patriots in the Revolution- 
ary War. 

243. Isles of Shoals. A group of islands off the coast of New 
Hampshire. The American poet, CeUa Thaxter, made her home 
here. 

259. Cocheco. Now Dover, New Hampshire. 

262-283. What are the attractive features of this beautiful 
description of the mother's early life? 

270. Conjtiring-book. (See Whittier's Introduction to Snow- 
Bound, page 94.) 

286. Why is he called painful Sewel ? 

William Sewel was the historian of the Quakers. Charles 
Lamb seemed to have as good an opinion of the book as Whittier. 
In his essay, A Quakers' Meeting, in Essays of Elia, he says: 
"Reader, if you are not acquainted with it, I would recommend 
to you, above all church-narratives, to read Sewel's History of 
the Quakers. ... It is far more edifying and affecting than any- 
thing you will read of Wesley or his colleagues." 

289. Thomas Chalkley was an Englishman of Quaker parent- 
age, born in 1675, who traveled extensively as a preacher, and 
finally made his home in Philadelphia. He died in 1749; his Jour- 
nal was first published in 1747. His own narrative of the incident 
which the poet relates is as follows: "To stop their murmuring, I 
told them they should not need to cast lots, which was usual in 
such cases, which of us should die first, for I would freely offer 
up my life to do them good. One said, * God bless you! I will not 
eat any of you.' Another said, 'He would die before he would 
eat any of me'; and so said several. I can truly say, on that 
occasion, at that time, my life was not dear to me, and that I was 



98 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

serious and ingenuous in my proposition; and as I was leaning 
over the side of the vessel, thoughtfully considering my proposal 
to the company, and looking in my mind to Him that made me, 
a very large dolphin came up towards the top or surface of the 
water, and looked me in the face; and I called the people to put 
a hook into the sea, and take him, for here is one come to redeem 
me (I said to them). And they put a hook into the sea, and the 
fish readily took it, and they caught him. He was longer than 
myself. I think he was about six feet long, and the largest that 
ever I saw. This plainly showed us that we ought not to distrust 
the providence of the Almighty. The people were quieted by 
this act of Providence, and murmured no more. We caught 
enough to eat plentifully of, till we got into the capes of Dela- 
ware." 

306. See Genesis xxii, 13. 

307-349. A fine description of a man who loves outdoor fife. 
Follow the lines through carefully, noting the different features 
of Nature touched on, and point out how our interest is held and 
how plainly we see the different scenes described. 

310. What is a lyceum as the word is used in America? The 
Lyceum was ^originally a park in ancient Athens where the Greek 
philosopher, Aristotle, taught. The measure requires the accent 
ly'ceum, but in stricter use the accent is lyce'um. 

320. ApoUonius Tyanaeus, a philosopher born in the first cen- 
tury of the Christian era, of whom many strange stories were 
told, especially regarding his converse with birds and animals. 

322. Hermes Trismegistus, a celebrated Egyptian priest and 
philosopher, to whom was attributed the revival of geometry, 
arithmetic, and art among the Egyptians. He was a little later 
than ApoUonius. 

325. Does Whittier mean to commend or criticize the uncle's 
seeming lack of ambition? 

332. Gilbert White, of Selborne, England, was a clergyman 
who wrote the Natural History of Selborne, a minute, affection- 
ate, and charming description of what could be seen as it were 
from his own doorstep. The accuracy of his observation and the 
delightfulness of his manner have kept the book a classic. 

337-338. How do these and the following lines show the power 
of narration which the uncle possessed? 

355-356. What do these lines suggest as to the aunt's disposi- 
tion and activities? 

Put into simple language lines 366-375. 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 99 

369. What is the correct pronunciation of mirage? How is it 
pronounced here? What does it mean? 

376-377. Paraphrase these lines, so as to make clearer the 
expression in line 377. 

378-391. Have pupils state in their own words the impression 
of the elder sister received from reading these lines. 

386-388. What view of death does the poet here express? 

390. What is meant by the low green tent ? 

Put in simpler words the meaning of lines 393^394. 

395. What is the meaning of motley-braided ? Look for this 
mat in the picture opposite page 8. 

398. green. Paradise is always fresh like green fields and 
trees. 

415-437. What lines before have expressed these same feel- 
ings? 

438-509. This paragraph is one of the best in the poem. 

439. The master of the district school. This schoolmaster 
was George Haskell, a native of Harvard, Massachusetts, who 
was a Dartmouth College student at the time referred to in the 
poem, and afterward became a physician. Till near the end of 
his own life Mr. Whittier could not recall the teacher's name, 
and Mr. Haskell seems never to have known that he was immor- 
tahzed in Snow-Bound. 

447. In classic Dartmouth's college halls. Where is Dart- 
mouth College? How near was it to Whittier's home? 

450. Why is New Hampshire not a good State for farming? 

453. What advantage is here suggested of a life on the farm 
where a boy is taught to work? 

456. It was customary in the early days of America for college 
students to pay their expenses by teaching country schools dur- 
ing vacation. 

464. This line refers to games played at social gatherings. 

471. See line 447 for the word classic. In what spirit do 
you think the schoolmaster told the legends of Greece and 
Rome? 

476. Pindus is the mountain chain which, running from north 
to south, nearly bisects Greece. Five rivers take their rise from 
the central peak, the Aoiis, the Arachthus, the Haliacmon, the 
Peneiis, and the Acheloiis. 

485-509. Whittier drops the thread of his story for a few lines 
to moralize. Why was this passage particularly appropriate at 
the time Whittier wrote Snow-Bound? What solution of the negro 



100 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

problem does the poet here suggest? How much of his plan and 
of his prophecy has been realized? 

500. What does Whittier think the results of education will 
be? Mention two famous institutions in the South for the edu- 
cation of negroes. Besides the work of the public school systems 
in the South, much wealth is devoted in our times to aiding 
Southern schools. The Southern Education Board and the 
General Education Board are especially active in these matters. 
George Peabody, John D. Rockefeller, and others have given 
large sums of money for this purpose. 

506. Is this true to-day? What war of our country fought 
since the Civil War tended to bring the North and South more 
closely together? 

510-589. Read in Whittier 's Introduction to Snow-Bound, 
page 94, the account of this guest. Miss Harriet Livermore. After 
studying the meaning of the words used to describe her in lines 
510-562, write in your own language a description of his guest. 

536. Petruchio's Kate. See Shakespeare's comedy of The 
Taming of the Shrew. 

537. Siena's saint. St. Catherine, of Siena, who is represented 
as having wonderful visions. She made a vow of silence for three 
years. 

550, etc. Find on the map the places here mentioned. 

555. The crazy Queen of Lebanon. An interesting account 
of Lady Hester Stanhope, an English gentlewoman who led a 
singular life on Mount Lebanon in Syria, will be found in King- 
lake's Eothen, chap. viii. 

562. This "not unf eared, half -welcome guest," Miss Harriet 
Livermore, at the time of this narrative was about twenty-eight 
years old. She once went on an independent mission to the 
Western Indians, whom she, in common with some others, be- 
lieved to be remnants of the lost tribes of Israel, but much of her 
life was spent in the Orient. See the introductory note to this 
poem, page 94. 

563-589. These lines are a sort of sermon. What is the subject 
of the sermon? What are the points offered in defense of this 
"not unfeared, half -welcome guest" ? 

690-613. What trait of character in Whittier 's mother is here 
depicted? 

611. How do such people as Whittier's mother try to answer 
their own prayers? 

614-628. Point out the contrast in these beautiful lines be- 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 101 

tween the wintry scene about the home and the dreams of the 
sleepers. 

629-656. What means did the country people take to clear 
the roads? 

639. What picture does this line give you? 

646. What picture do you see here? What is there unusual m 
these words? 

659. The wise old Doctor was Dr. Weld of Haverhill, an able 
man, who died at the age of ninety-six. 

661. In what previous passage has Whittier spoken of his 
mother's willingness to help? 

668. To what rehgious denomination did Whittier belong? 
(See page xiii.) 

669. Calvin's creed. Who was Calvin? What religious de- 
nomination did he found? 

670-674. The doctrine of Calvin taught that certain persons 
were the elect, that is, were selected or chosen to be saved. In 
these lines what does Whittier suggest as the grounds on which 
we shall be saved? 

674. How did the snow-bound family entertain itself? 

676. In early days when books were fewer than to-day the 
almanac was more important than now and contained much 
information of an encyclopaedic nature. 

683. What color did the Quakers largely use for their cloth- 
ing? 

683. Thomas EUwood, one of the Society of Friends, a con- 
temporary and friend of Milton, who suggested to him the writ- 
ing of Paradise Regained, wrote an epic poem in five books, 
called Davideis, the life of King David of Israel. He wrote the 
book, we are told, for his own diversion, so it was not necessary 
that others should be diverted by it. 

686. See 1 and 2 Samuel. 

693. Before us passed the painted Creeks. Referring to the 
removal of the Creek Indians from Georgia to beyond the Mis- 
sissippi. 

694. In 1822 Sir Gregor McGregor, a Scotchman, began an 
ineffectual attempt to estabhsh a colony in Costa Rica. 

697. Taygetus is a mountain on the Gulf of Messenia in 
Greece, and near by is the district of Maina, noted for its rob- 
bers and pirates. It was from these mountaineers that Ypsilanti, 
a Greek patriot, drew his cavalry in the struggle with Turkey 
which resulted in the independence of Greece. 



102 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

700. What experience had Whittier himself had with the rustic 
Muse? (See page xv.). What lines in this passage describe most 
vividly the influence of the newspaper? 

715-739. The story is done. The last two paragraphs are in the 
nature of a conclusion. From the point of view of this paragraph, 
where has the poet been reading these memories of the past? 

739. aloe, the century plant which was formerly supposed to 
blossom only when a century old. 

741. Truce of God. The name is drawn from a historic com- 
pact in 1040, when the Church forbade the barons to make any 
attack on each other between sunset on Wednesday and sunrise 
on the following Monday, or upon any ecclesiastical fast or feast 
day. It also provided that no man was to molest a laborer work- 
ing in the fields, or to lay hands on any implement of husbandry, 
on pain of excommunication. 

747. Flemish pictures. The Flemish school of painting was 
chiefly occupied with homely interiors. 

740-759. Where does Whittier think that he will get his re- 
ward or satisfaction for writing this poem? 
General Questions. 

If you have enjoyed reading Snow- Bound, can you tell what 
part of it has attracted you most? 

What would you call the main effect of the poem? 

Is Whittier most capable in description, character sketch, or 
portrayal of sentiment? 

Which would you consider the stronger, his mental quahties 
or his spiritual? 

What passage of the poem in your opinion contains the best 
description? Why do you consider it the best? What passage is 
most religious? Most excited or violent? Most expressive of 
affection — of sorrow — of tolerance? What passage is most 
beautiful — most touching? 

Gather together the passages containing references to religion 
or religious feeling, and make of them a statement of Whittier's 
religious belief. Do the same with the passages expressing his 
pohtical views. 

AMONG THE HILLS 

2. tawny Incas. The Incas were the kings of the ancient 
Peruvians. At Yucay, their favorite residence, the gardens, 
according to Prescott, contained "forms of vegetable life skil- 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS lOS 

fully imitated in gold and silver." See History of the Conquest 
of Peru, I, 130. 

26. The volume in which this poem stands first, and to which 
it gives the name, was published in the fall of 1868. 

110. the knife-grinder of whom Canning sings. The Anti- 
Jacobin was a periodical published in England in 1797-98, to 
ridicule democratic opinions, and in it Canning, who afterward 
became premier of England, wrote many light verses and jeux 
d' esprit, among them a humorous poem called the Needy Knife- 
Grinder, in burlesque of a poem by Southey. The knife-grinder 
is anxiously appealed to to tell his story of wrong and injustice, 
but answers as here: — 

" Story, God bless you! I 've none to tell." 

121. See Ruth iii. 

134. Happy Isles of prophecy. The Fortunate Isles, or Isles 
of the Blest, were imaginary islands in the West, in classic myth- 
ology, set in a sea which was warmed by the rays of the declining 
sun. Hither the favorites of the gods were borne, and here they 
dwelt in endless joy. 

165. Sandwich Notch, Chocorua Mountain, Ossipee Lake, 
and the Bearcamp River are all striking features of the scenery 
in that part of New Hampshire which lies just at the entrance of 
the White Mountain region. Many of Whittier's most graceful 
poems are drawn from the suggestions of this country, where he 
often spent the summer months, and a mountain near West 
Ossipee has received his name. 

465. The General Court is the official designation of the legis- 
lative body in New Hampshire and in Massachusetts. 

SONGS OF LABOR 

The Songs of Labor were written in 1845 and 1846, and printed 
first in magazines. They reflect the working life of New England 
at that time, before the great changes were wrought which have 
nearly put an end to some of the forms of labor, the praises of 
which here are sung. The Songs were collected into a volume, 
entitled Songs of Labor and Other Poems, in 1850, and the follow- 
ing Dedication was then prefixed. 

22. And beauty is its own excuse. "For the idea of this line," 
says Mr. Whittier, "I am indebted to Emerson in his inimitable 
sonnet to the Rhodora: — 

" ' If eyes were made for seeing, 
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.' " 



104 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 

52. St. Crispin's day. October 25. St. Crispin and his brother 
Crispinian were said to be martyrs of the third century who 
while preaching the gospel had made their living by shoemaking. 

62. Spanish main. A name given to the northern coast of 
South America when it was taken possession of by the Spaniards. 

72. the dark-eyed Florentine. So associated was Florence, 
Italy, in the minds of people with the manufacture of sewing- 
silk, that when the industry was set up in the neighborhood of 
Northampton, Massachusetts, the factory village took the name 
of Florence. 

94. Hans Sachs. See Longfellow's poem, Nuremberg, for a 
reference to Hans Sachs, the cobbler poet. 

96. Robert Bloomfield, an English poet, author of The Farm- 
er's Boy, was bred a shoemaker, as was William Gifford, a wit 
and satirist, and first editor of the Quarterly Review, but Gifford 
hated his craft bitterly. 

97. Roger Sherman, one of the signers of the Declaration of 
Independence, was at one time a shoemaker in New Milford, 
Connecticut. 

99. Jacob Behmen, or Boehme, a German visionary of the 
seventeenth century. 

101. George Fox, the founder of the Society of Friends, or 
Quakers, as they are more commonly called. 

117. Crystal Mountains. A name early given to the White 
Mountains from the crystals found there by the first explorers, 
who thought them diamonds. 

155. Brador's rocks are on the coast of Prince Edward Island. 

166. Red Island lies in Placentia Bay, on the coast of New- 
foundland. 

172. The Mickmacks are a tribe of Indians living in and near 
Nova Scotia. 

187. the fish of Tobit. See the story in the Book of Tobit, one 
of the Apocrypha. 

358. Compare The Ship-Builders with Longfellow's poem 
The Building of the Ship. 

497. See Genesis xli, 2-4. 

THE BAREFOOT BOY 

63. Apples of Hesperides. The Hesperides were three nymphs 
who were set to guard the golden apples which Gaea (Earth) 
planted in the gardens of Here, as a wedding gift. 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 105 



TELLING THE BEES 

A remarkable custom, brought from England, formerly pre- 
vailed in the rural districts of New England. On the death of 
a member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the 
event, and their hives were dressed in mourning. This cere- 
monial was supposed to be necessary to prevent the swarms 
from leaving their hives and seeking a new home. The scene is 
minutely that of the Whittier homestead. 

BURNS 

38. The Twa Dogs. The title of a poem by Bums. 

67-68. Craigie-bum . . . Devon. The names of two small 
rivers in Scotland. 

71. Ayr . . . Doon. Streams in southwestern Scotland. 

73-76. These lines allude to Burns's poem Is there for honest 
poverty. Whittier himself wrote a poem in the same spirit — 
The Poor Voter on Election Day. See page 72. 

77-80. Burns's poem The Cotter's Saturday Night is here re- 
ferred to. Whittier's poem Snow-Bound is of the same genre. 

103. The mournful Tuscan. Dante (1265-1321), the Italian 
poet, author of The Divine Comedy. 

114. Bonnie Doon. An allusion to Burns's poem The Banks 
of Doon. 

116. Highland Mary. A lass celebrated in Burns's poem of 
the same name. She was one of the poet's sweethearts. 

ABRAHAM DAVENPORT 

The famous Dark Day of New England, May 19, 1780, was a 
physical puzzle for many years to our ancestors, but its occur- 
rence brought something more than philosophical speculation 
into the minds of those who passed through it. The incident of 
Colonel Abraham Davenport's sturdy protest is a matter of 
history. 

5. Mianas. The Mianus River, in Connecticut. 

8. Stamford. A city in Connecticut. 

16. The Twilight of the Gods. In Norse mythology, the 
final destruction of the world, when the sun would be darkened, 
the earth would sink into the sea, and flames would lick the sky. 

28. Bethany. See John xi. 



106 NOTES AND QUESTIONS 



THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY 

In tone this poem is strongly suggestive of Burns's Is therefor 
honest poverty. 

THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS 

17. Tunis. A city in the Barbary State of the same name, on 
the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. 

25. soldo. An Italian coin, worth rather less than one 
cent. 

KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS 

4, Sheba's queen. See 1 Kings x and 2 Chronicles ix. 

7. Song of songs. The Song of Solomon, a book in the Old 
Testament comprising a group of love poems capable of inter- 
pretation as an allegory. 

APRIL 

Christabel. A poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
27. Lazarus. See John xi, 

THE MAYFLOWERS 

The trailing arbutus, or mayfiower, grows abundantly in the 
vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the 
Pilgrims after their fearful winter. The name ** may flower" was 
familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic vessel 
shows, but it was applied by the English, and still is, to the haw- 
thorn. Its use in New England in connection with Epigcea repens 
dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pil- 
grims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its 
Enghsh flower association. 

FOR AN AUTUMN FESTIVAL 

2. Ceres. The Greek goddess of growing vegetation. 
22. Ruth. See the Book of Ruth. 

THE FROST SPIRIT 
XL Hecla. A volcano in Iceland. 



NOTES AND QUESTIONS 107 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 

34. Compare with the description in hne 62 of Snow-Bound. 

55. Arno's vale. The Arno valley is in northern Italy. The 
city of Florence lies within it. 

56. The Alhambra is a famous palace, built by the Moors in 
Seville, Spain. 

66. See 2 Kings v. 

71. Hafiz. A Persian poet who died about 1389. 

93. Sir Francis Bacon, an English philosopher and statesman, 
1561-1626. His Essays remain a classic in English literature. 
His scientific writings foreshadowed many of the developments 
of later years. 

94. Blaise Pascal, a French philosopher and mathematician, 
1623-62. His Thoughts are still widely read. 

105. Plato, a Greek philosopher, b.c. 427-347. His Dialogues 
and Republic established him as one of the greatest thinkers of 
the ancient world. 

111. Sufi's song. The Sufis were the members of a sect of 
mystics among the Mohammedans of Persia. Gentoo is another 
name for Brahman, the highest caste among the Hindus. The 
priests of the religion are drawn from this caste. 

112. Menu, or Manu, was the reputed author of the Laws, the 
most authoritative of the Hindu codes. 

117. the magic mat. An allusion to the magic carpet, of the 
Arabian Nights. 

121-125. The statesman was Charles Sumner. 

126. Athenian archon. The archon was one of the chief magis- 
trates in ancient Athens. 

127. Struck down. An allusion to an assault upon Sumner 
committed by Preston Brooks, of South CaroHna, in the Senate 
Chamber. 

148. the Cross without the Bear. The constellation of the 
Southern Cross occupies, in the heavens south of the Equator, a 
position equally conspicuous with that of the Great Bear in the 
northern heavens. 

162. Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls. A palace of the 
French kings is situated at Versailles. One of the Enghsh roy- 
alty is at Windsor. 

179. Arcadian vales. Arcadia, a rural district in Greece, 
mountainous and picturesque, and inhabited by a simple, con- 
tented, pastoral people. 




MAP OF THE REGIOU CELKBRAaMD IN WHITTIER'S POEMS 



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RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



147. 

48. 

49. 
150. 
151. 
152. 
3. 
154. 
155. 
15G, 
157: 
158. 
lO'J. 
iGO. 
Kil. 
1102. 
IG3. 

i(;4. 

1(55. 
1(16. 
1G7. 
^1G8. 
1(;9. 
170. 
171, 
173. 
174. 
175. 
176. 
177. 
178, 
179. 
,180. 
181. 
182. 
183. 
184. 
185. 
'18G. 
187, 
180. 
190. 
) 

191. 
192. 
193. 
194. 
195. 
106. 
197. 
198, 

200. 
201. 
202. 
203. 
204. 
205. 
20G. 
207. 
208. 
209= 
210. 



Pope's Rape of the Lock, etc. 

Hawthorne's Marble Faun. 

Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. 

Ouida's Dog of Flanders, etc. 

Ewing's Jackanapes, etc. 

Marthieau's The Peasant and the Prince. 

Shakespeare's Midsumiuer Night's Dream. 

Shakespeare's Tempest. 

Irving's Life of Goldsmith. 

Temiysou's Gareth and Lynette, etc. 

Tlie Song of Roland. 

Malory's Merlin and Sir Balin. 

Beowulf. 

Spenser's Faerie Queene. Book I. 

Dickens's Tale of Two Cities. 

Prose and Poetry of Cardinal Newman. 

Shakespeare's Henry V. 

De Quincey's Joan of Arc, etc. 

Scott's Quentin Durward. 

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 

Longfellow^s Autobiographical Poems. 

Shelley's Poems. 

Lowell's My Garden Acquaintance, etc. 

Lamb's Essays of Elia. 

172. Emerson's Essays. 

Kate Douglas Wiggin's Flag-Raising. 

Kate Douglas Wiggin's Finding a Home. 

Whittier's Autobiographical Poems. 

Burroughs' s Afoot and Afloat. 

Bacon's Essays. 

Selections from John Ruskin. 

King Arthur Stoiies from Malory. 

Palmer's Odyssey. 

Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man. 

Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer. 

Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

Shakespeare's King Lear. 

Moores's Life of Lincoln. 

Thoreau's Camping in the Maine Woods. 

188. Huxley's Autobiography, and Essays. 

Byron's Childe Harold, Canto IV, etc. 

Washington's Farewell Address, and Web- 
ster's Bunker Hill Oration. 

The Second Shepherds' Play, etc. 

Mrs. Gaskell's Cranford. 

Williams's ^neid. 

Irving's Bracebridge Hall. Selections. 

Thoreau's Walden. 

Sheridan's The Rivals. 

Barton's Captains of Industry. Selected. 

199. Macaulay's Lord Clive, and W. Hast- 
ings. 

Howells's The Rise of Silas Lapham. 

Harris's Little Mr.Thimblefinger Stories. 

Jewett's The Night Before Thanksgiving. 

Shumway's Nibelungenlied. 

Sheffield's Old Testament Narrative. 

Powers's A Dickens Reader. 

Goethe's Faust. Part I. 

Cooper's The Spy. v — 

Aldrich's Story of a Bad Boy. 

Warner's Being a Boyl 

Kate Douglas Wiggin's Polly Oliver's 
Problem. 



211. Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

212. Sliakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. 

213. Hemingway's Le Morte Arthur. 

214. Moores's Life of Cohimbus. 

215. Bret Harte's Tennessee's Partner, etc. 

216. Ralph Roister Doihter. 

217. Gorboduc. (In preparation.) 

218. Selected Lyrics from Wordsworth, Keats, 

and Shelley. 

219. Selected Lyrics from Dryden, Collins, 

Gray, Cowper, and i-urns. 

220. Southern Poems. 

221. Macaulay's Speeches on Copyright; Lin- 

coln's Cooper Union Address. 

222. Briggs's College Life. 

223. Selections from the Prose Writings of Mat- 

thew Arnold. 

224. Perry's American Mind and American 

Idealism. 

225. Newman's University Subjects. 

226. Burroughs's Studies in Nature and Lit- 

eratui-e. 

227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

228. Selected EiigUsh Letters. 

229. Jewett's Play Day Stories. 

230. Grenfell's Adrift on an Ice-Pan. 

231. Muir's Stickeen. 

232. Harte's Waif of the Plains, etc. 

233. Tennyson's The Coming of Arthur, the 

Holy Grail and the Passing of Arthur. 

234. Selected Essays. 

235. Briggs's To College Girls. 

236. Lowell's Literary Essays. (Selected.) 

237. Mai-mion. 

238. Short Stories. 

239. Selections from American Poetry. 

240. Howells's Tlie Parlor Car, and The Sleep- 

ing Car. 

241. Mills's The Story of a Thousand- Year 

Pine, etc. 

242. Eliot's The Training for an Effective Life. 

243. Bryant's Iliad, Abridged Edition. 

244. Lockwood's English Sonnets. 

245. Antin's At School in the Promised Laud. 

246. Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

(Other titles to be announced.) 



(75) 



RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 



{Continued) 
EXTRA NUMBERS 



American Authors and their Birthdays. 

Biographical Sketches of American Au- 
thors. 

Warriner's Teaching of English Classics 
in the Grades. 

Scudder's Literature in School. 

Longfellow Leaflets . 

Whittler Leaflets. 

Holmes Leaflets. 

Thomas's How to Teach English Clas- 
sics. 

Holbrook's Northland Heroes. 

The Riverside Song Book. 

Lowell's Fable for Critics. 

Selections from American Authors. 

Lowell Leaflets. 

Holbrook's Hiawatha Primer, 

Selections from English Authors. 



E .Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. Selected, j 

S Irving's Essays from Sketch Book. °'- 
lected. 

T Literature for the Study of Language. 

U A Dramatization of the Song of Hia- 
watha. 

V Holbrook's Book of Nature M3rths. 
W Brown's In the Days of Giants. 
X Poems for the Study of Language. 

Y Warner'sln the Wilderness. 
Z Nine Selected Poems. 

A A Coleridge's The Ancient Mariner am 
Lowell's The Vision of Sir Launfal. 

BB Poe's The Raven, Whittier's Snow 
Bound, and Longfellow's The Court 
ship of Miles Standish. 

CC Selections for Study and Memorizing! 



LIBRARY BINDING 

135-136. Chaucer's Prologue, The Knight's Tale, and The Nun's Priest's Tale. 
160. Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. 
166. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship. 
168. Shelley's Poems. Selected. 

177. Bacon's Essays. 

178. Selections from the Works of John Ruskin. 

181-182. Goldsmith's The Good-Natured Man, and She Stoops to Conquer. 

183. Old English and Scottish Ballads. 

187-188. Huxley's Autobiography and Selected Essays. 

191. Second Shepherd's Play, Everyman, etc. 

211. Milton's Areopagitica, etc. 

216. Ralph Roister Doister. 

222> Briggs's College Life. > : 

223. Selections from the Prose Works of Matthew Arnold 

224. Perry's The American Mind and American Idealism. 

225. Newman's University Subjects. 

225. Burroughs 's Studies in Nature and Literature. 

227. Bryce's Promoting Good Citizenship. 

235. Briggs's To College Girls. I 

236. Selected Literary Essays from James Russell Lowell. 1 
242. Eliot's The Training for an Effective Life. 

K. Minimum College Requirements in English for Study. 
244. Lockwood's English Sonnets. 
246. Shepard's Shakespeare Questions. 

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